


Killjoy

by theficisalie



Series: Runaway Scars [6]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Killjoys are <i>back</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kobra Kid

**Author's Note:**

> beta: [kazzbot](http://kazzbot.livejournal.com)

**Chapter 1**

Mikey slept alone.

It hadn’t always been like that; when they’d been younger, between the grey walls of the City, Mikey had often wandered into Gerard’s room when it was too hard to sleep. Sometimes he’d have nightmares in his own room: visions of flame and death that he could never rid himself of. Sometimes he just had to get out to escape the shadows that were always lurking under his bed and beneath his alarm clock, waiting to snatch him up with their sharp-edged teeth. Gerard’s room was probably no lighter but it had Gerard in it, and Gerard was always alive, soft and warm and _there._

When they’d started living in the desert, Mikey remembered that they’d shared a bed for the first month. Later, Mikey had made the room they’d shared his own, and having memories of Gerard in it helped keep the darkness at bay. After Gerard had moved to the room adjacent to it, he left behind a sketch of himself that Mikey now kept under his pillow. When Ray had joined them, with the vague, bright shape in his memory that Mikey now knew was Grace, Mikey had crawled into bed with Gerard for two weeks, needing the familiar strength of his brother’s back against his to settle his stomach. He’d retreated to his own room soon enough, able to handle the newcomers once he’d determined that they weren’t going to take away what was his.

Mikey could even remember that the dark-haired man who called himself Thriller had come to their home more than once. He knew the facts: that Thriller was something to Mikey, that they’d touched and kissed, but he could not recall a single time when they’d shared a bed for more than a handful of hours. Thriller had never stayed for the night, because that was when his part of the City came to life. Sometimes after he’d speed off on his bike, Mikey had curled up on Gerard’s bed and waited for his brother to come back, messy and solid and real. Mikey thought that maybe Thriller had never stayed the night because the only person who had ever slept beside Mikey was Gerard.

Gerard always knew what Mikey needed, whether it was to be left alone or held, and he’d been there for Mikey day and night since the day Mikey was born.

But now Mikey wasn’t the only one who needed Gerard. He wasn’t the only one curled up on his bed any more and Mikey didn’t think that he would still fit. Gerard didn’t need Mikey, he had someone to hold him and someone to hold. And now Mikey didn’t fit anywhere. The only place he’d ever belonged was at Gerard’s side.

He had left the radio trio huddled around the light of their screens, blinding in the bunker’s perpetual night. Thriller had curled up on the couch in the same room, face turned towards the dark of the cushions. Mikey had seen the man start to reach for him, fingertips wanting, but he’d withdrawn them when he’d taken one look into Mikey’s eyes. Apparently he hadn’t found what he’d been searching for. Mikey had seen Thriller retreat behind whatever wall he’d thrown up to keep this version of Mikey out.

The action had made something stir in the bottom of Mikey’s stomach. Regret, maybe. Anxiety. Want. He couldn’t place a name to it and he left after a few minutes, when Thriller’s breathing evened out. Mikey knew that the older man was asleep somewhere in his bones, but he didn’t say anything. Tommy was the only one to look up as Mikey left, and she gave him a sad sort of smile to which Mikey simply inclined his head.

Instead of going into the small room where Mikey knew there would be an extra cot for him, Mikey tugged the zipper of his jacket higher up until it was snug beneath his chin and went outside. He was tired, sure, but not quite enough to sleep. And the pit in his stomach that had tightened a bit when Thriller had turned away made Mikey think that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight anyway.

The night air was crisp and cold, with a biting chill that made Mikey shiver before he planted his feet in a steady stance and started going through his routine. He went slowly, because his chest hurt like a motherfucker and sleep would probably help with that, but...

Frank had told Mikey earlier to get Thriller to help him with his chest, with the salve and the bandaging. He’d looked so confident that the dark-haired man wouldn’t treat Mikey like an invalid or a stranger, but Thriller would hardly even look in Mikey’s eyes. There was something there, some part of Mikey living inside Thriller, but every time Mikey moved to try and touch the man, try and find whatever he seemed to be missing, Thriller shifted away.

Mikey huffed out a breath and started his kicks. The burn in his arms and chest was almost painful but it was a welcome sort of distraction. He’d been thinking too hard all day, and he hadn’t once been allowed a reprieve. Facts had been flying through his head since he’d woken up, numbers and pills and the names of muscles and bones, the proper method of salving a wound and modifications to traditional techniques that he’d had to improvise on the fly with no sterile environment. The proper fading time for a bruise and Thriller’s arms on his, his small body leading a motorcycle through straight roads, guiding Mikey along with him.

Was there something wrong with him? He’d seen the way Gerard had looked at Frank when his memory had clicked back into place, and Mikey knew that Thriller expected the same sort of reaction from him, but all Mikey could feel was a kind of savage loss deep inside his chest that had nothing to do with the wounds on the surface.

He kicked a bit too hard and doubled over, stomach muscles cramping and protesting against the fresh burn on his chest.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, dropping to his knees and wrapping an arm around his midsection.

“I’ll say.”

Mikey started, jerking to the side at the sound of Gerard’s voice. His brother was sitting on the hood of their car, shoulders relaxed and elbows on his knees. He was wearing his threadbare black shirt, and the dusty white pants he never took off. With his jacket missing, he looked almost naked. Vulnerable. It was strange to be able to see the lines of his chest through the slits he’d decided were arm holes when he’d first chosen the rag from a pile at the dump. Mikey checked the zipper on his own jacket, making sure it was snug against his neck, before he placed it over where his heart was beating a mile a minute.

“You were sleeping,” Mikey said. Maybe if he pressed the heel of his hand into his heart hard enough, the muscle would calm down, stop jumping, take a break. _One day,_ it beat. _You’ve worked me enough for a year and it’s only been one day. One day. One day._

Gerard shrugged. The motion was small, almost hidden, but he didn’t need to move much for Mikey to see the action written in his pose. “You weren’t.”

“So?”

“My Mikeysense woke me,” Gerard said, leveling his gaze right at Mikey.

On anyone else, Mikey might have suspected sarcasm. On Gerard... “Right,” he muttered. Like he needed to worry about Gerard sensing him and worrying about him on top of everything else.

“It’s true,” Gerard said. “I always know. Usually you come in, though, and I can fix whatever’s wrong. You’re a cripple, remember? Why’re you out here?”

Mikey huffed out a breath and sat down properly on the ground. There was a rock near his foot, half-buried in the sand. He scraped around the base of it with his finger, trying to work it free. Dirt got under his fingernails as he dug, splintering itself in deep. “He’s in there,” he muttered, when the silence got too long.

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “So are the rest of us, though.”

“Yeah, but you’re,” Mikey said, shoving at the tip of the rock with his boot. “You’re fucking...something, with...and I’m...nobody.”

“Use your words, Mikes,” Gerard said.

“Frank,” Mikey snapped, looking up. “You’re fucking Frank.”

“And?”

Mikey gave the rock one last, hard kick, and it came out, skittering across the ground. It left behind a cavity, an empty hole. “And I’m not. There’s no room for me.” His voice sounded small, even to his own ears. For a moment, Mikey wondered if Gerard had even heard him, but the sound of footsteps before Gerard sat down in front of Mikey made him pause.

“I always make room for you,” Gerard said. He shifted closer, sitting indian-style like Mikey was, so their knees were touching.

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Mikey muttered. “You have something with Frank.”

“Frank’s your friend, too.”

Mikey snorted. “Gee, you know what I mean. He...he needs you.”

“He needs you, too,” Gerard said. “I need you. Thriller...”

“Fuck,” Mikey muttered. “Everybody needs me. I don’t know how, I’m not like you. I can’t do that, you know. Be there.”

“Well, I don’t know about Thriller,” Gerard said. “But I know about me. I don’t need you to do anything. I don’t even need you to be there, because I know you can’t always do that, but I just need you to _be_. Frank does, Ray does, and they both know you need space. You can’t always be doing everything, Mikes.”

“But Ray has Grace,” Mikey said, feeling like he was whining, but Gerard was letting him, so he continued. “Frank has you. You have Frank. I can’t just come in anymore. I won’t fit, Gee. I don’t... I don’t fit.”

Gerard sighed. “That’s not true. Look, there’s space, Mikes. I’ll make space. Frank will make space. Sometimes I need you, too, and you just stay away when both of us need each other these days. You’ve gotta stop doing that. You can lean on me, baby brother, I can take it.”

“But you’ll...” Mikey paused for a moment.

“I’ll what?”

Mikey pursed his lips and looked up at Gerard. His eyebrows shifted. Prompting. Waiting for Mikey to be ready to continue. His brother was a big ball of thoughts all waiting to burst out, but he kept them under wraps when Mikey needed to talk.

Mikey bit his lower lip. “You’ll be naked,” he whispered.

Gerard laughed his loud, honking Gerard laugh. It set something right in Mikey, clicked something back in place. “Fine,” Gerard said, still snorting like an idiot. “I’ll wear pants to bed.”

Mikey smiled. “Really?”

“We’ll put a sock on the door if we’re naked, how’s that,” Gerard said.

“You won’t remember,” Mikey said. Gerard pushed himself to his feet and offered Mikey a hand. “You’ll forget and one day I’ll walk in and I’ll be scarred for life.”

Gerard laughed again, wrapping an arm around Mikey’s shoulders when they were both standing. “I’m sure you already are,” he said. He was still giggling when they made their way into the bunker.

“Yeah,” Mikey muttered.

“Come on,” Gerard said, voice low as they made their way into the dark room. “You need to sleep, Kobra Kid.”

Mikey hesitated by the door, or tried to, but Gerard just steered him towards the tiny bundle of Frank in the corner of the room. Ray was just a foot away, completely off the cot that someone had set up for them. Gerard knelt down between the two and shoved at Frank’s shoulder. “Move over, sleeping beauty,” he murmured, pushing Frank until there was enough room for Gerard and Mikey to both fit.

Mikey untied his boots and lined them up with Gerard’s before lying down. Ray sighed at his left and shifted closer to the warmth that Mikey’s body was probably making. Gerard tugged Mikey in, hugging him close.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Gerard muttered, burying his face in Mikey’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Mikey said. Someone’s hand groped for his. It was smaller than Gerard’s and covered in more calluses, but Mikey took it anyway. Frank snuggled closer, throwing a leg over Mikey’s. He made a series of snuffling noises near Mikey’s ear in his sleep and muttered something that sounded like “Sassafrass” before falling silent, breathing even and calm.

Mikey snorted, grinning when Gerard smiled into his shoulder.

“Night, Mikes,” Gerard muttered.

“Night, Gee,” Mikey answered.

**Chapter 2**

“So they died,” Thriller was saying when Mikey walked out into the main room of the bunker. He’d woken up to find Gerard gone and Frank drooling in his hair, so he’d quickly checked Ray’s eye for signs of infection and left Captain Drool to curl into the space Mikey left behind.

Gerard was sitting with D and Thriller at the table and he raised one of his eyebrows when he saw Mikey rubbing at the side of his head.

_What happened?_

Mikey rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. It was long enough so that it didn’t stick up with the motion, but it did fall in his eyes. He blinked _drool_ at Gerard, who snorted.

“What?” Thriller asked.

“Nothing,” Gerard said, but his eyes were dancing _Frank_.

As embarrassing as his brother’s ridiculous crush for their pint-size zonerunner was, Mikey couldn’t help the smile that tugged at a corner of his mouth for a second.

D shook his head when Thriller looked at him beseechingly. “Don’t look at me. No other DeathDefying spawn running around the desert for me to share a brain radio with, either.”

“We did,” Mikey said, eyeing Gerard’s thigh until his brother shuffled over on the chair, leaving just enough space for Mikey to perch on the edge.

“I know that,” Thriller said. “I can very clearly see that you two are freaky brother-hive-mind things.”

“No,” Mikey said. “Die. We did die.”

“Oh,” Thriller said. The backtracking of the conversation seemed to throw him off balance for a moment but he licked his lips and leaned forward. “How do you know?”

Mikey shifted so that his elbow was jabbed into Gerard’s ribs. Gerard lifted his arm up and slung it around the back of the chair but didn’t move away from Mikey and his sharp corners. “Korse shot me in the heart,” Mikey said, blinking at Gerard before looking back at Thriller. “And then everything shut off.” He shrugged. “And I was dead.”

“Same,” Gerard said.

“And you came back?” Thriller’s voice was low, hushed, like they were sharing a secret.

“Ghoul helped,” Mikey said, watching as Thriller’s eyes flashed darkly. With jealousy? Or...no, wait. It was something else.

Thriller clenched his hand around the edge of the table. “Last time this happened...fuck. We thought that they’d just wiped him, we didn’t know that this...that they’d fucking _killed_ him.”

“You were there?” Gerard asked, leaning closer. “When, last time. Did you find him? How...he was in the city, right? Because this would have been before he...came to us.”

“Yeah, but, no.” Thriller frowned. “He found us. I don’t know how, but A and Cobra were working up in one of our fronts and he just strolled right in the front door, cavalier as fuck and empty as a baby. He was walking like a stiff, you know, with no slouch, no life in him, and he was just cut up and stitched back all to hell. I don’t know what happened to him, but he didn’t even know he had these scars just fucking everywhere. A said he sat him down in a chair and showed him the line of the biggest one and then Ghoul collapsed, he...it was like he was a caged animal or something, like he’d been abused and that scar on the back of his neck...” Thriller stopped, shuddering and shaking his head. “It, I don’t know what it does, but it just kind of makes him keel over, you know? So I guess, wherever he was before, when he died...he came back. How does that work? I don’t understand. Is it all of us?”

D scratched at his beard. “There’s no way to tell unless you come back,” he said. “I ain’t ever seen this except with Ghoul there. Might be a side effect of the pig shell, maybe it’s to do with the light, maybe both, maybe neither. There’s something in all of you that kickstarted your bodies back to life after you got pushed over the edge. Maybe we all got it, and maybe it’s just that there ain’t no light can rival the mighty fist of the shell that wiped out the zones, and we survived that one and look at us now.” He shrugged. “But who knows? Maybe it’s just the fabulous Killjoys that can come back from the dead.”

D’s proclamation plunged them all into silence that lasted for a good five minutes until Frank marched out of the back room. “Did somebody say my name?” he asked. His eyes were still squinty with sleep but his grin was so infectious it made Mikey roll his eyes and want to throw up.

“No,” Mikey said, ignoring the beam in Gerard’s eyes. Maybe he could vomit on Frank’s side of the car. That might teach them to be a bit less cute with each other. “Nobody was even talking.”

“Oh,” Frank said. He looked at Thriller and Dr. D before leaning his weight on Mikey’s shoulder. “Well, someone say my name.”

“Fun Ghoul,” Thriller said, grinning.

Frank laughed. “Much better. What were we all talking about? Me, right?”

“Yes,” Thriller said.

“No, don’t,” Mikey said, but Frank was already jittering with delight. “Fuck, now his head will puff up  even more and the next time he gets injured he’s going to weigh a ton. He already has a fucking ego the size of a building.”

Frank sniffed the air obnoxiously and gave Mikey a sidelong look before rubbing his nose in the shaved sides of Mikey’s head. “Hm,” he said, withdrawing. “You smell like spit.”

Mikey tried to push Frank away, but Frank just cackled and stepped out of reach. “It’s because you fucking drooled in my hair,” Mikey said.

“Doesn’t sound like me,” Frank said, affecting a solemn face and shrugging philosophically. “But my saliva does have healing powers, so consider it a gift. Also, maybe you should wash your hair.”

“Eugh,” Mikey muttered. “Why did we ever agree to bring him along?” He didn’t dare look at Gerard, who probably had a sickening look of longing on his face.

“I’m going somewhere that smells less like the unwashed siblings,” Frank announced, and darted up the stairs to the desert before he could get hit by the can of beans Mikey threw at him.

“I washed yesterday,” Gerard muttered into Mikey’s ear. He sounded highly affronted.

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Thriller. You had him last time, you said? And he got back most of his memories, right? Was he this much of a shit the last time he came back, too?”

Thriller was clearly trying not to laugh, but he nodded, face mostly composed. “Yes. To all of the above.”

“How’d he remember, then?”

“Different things seemed to unearth different memories,” Thriller said. “Names, places. He got tattoos over all of his scars and every time Butcher pressed a needle in, it looked like he was getting another one back. It’s probably a little bit of everything that helped bring things back.”

“So different things, then. If names and the desert aren’t triggering our memories,” Mikey said, “we should go into the City.”

Thriller blinked. “Oh.”

“Are you sure?” Gerard asked, raising his eyebrow at Mikey.

Mikey pursed his lips. _Yes._

_But that’s where the people who tried to kill us are._

_So we’ll go somewhere else._ “You don’t live on the surface of the City, right?” Mikey asked, looking at Thriller.

“Uh, no, we live...well, there are tunnels. Underground. Everything lives underground.”

“Underground,” Mikey said. See? he told Gerard. _Bad guys need sun to survive._

Gerard sniffed. “If you think it’ll help,” he muttered. _You’re afraid of the dark, Mikey, don’t even try and fucking lie to me._

“I do,” Mikey said, voice low. He wasn’t the leader, but he knew Gerard, and he knew that Gerard trusted him. “It’s where we belong, doesn’t matter if it’s scary or not.”

Gerard’s lips tightened, but he gave Mikey his most indignant _yes_ look before turning back to Thriller. “When are you heading back?”

Thriller grinned, his teeth a gleaming white in the dim light of the bunker.

“Tonight.”

**Chapter 3**

Walking into the club felt a little bit like drowning. The wave of music that hit them as they walked in was heady and disorienting; it filled the space beneath Mikey’s skin and beat out through his own heart. With every flash of the lights, Mikey was shoved beneath the weight of his own memories that threatened to flatten him like a wave upon the sand. He didn’t realize that he was being led away from the door until he was at a bar, being guided onto a stool. His hands were around his head, and when he looked to the side he saw that Frank was doing the same with a single hand, eyes wide with fear, and with the other he was supporting Gerard whose eyes were squeezed shut.

Images pulsed behind Mikey’s eyelids, as bright as the lights flashing above them and more deadly. The emotions that followed the pictures were worse: they trickled down his spine and curled around his stomach, making him sick. Gerard’s pale face, too still to be right. His prone form on a bed in an apartment they must have shared. Ray and Grace stubbornly following them out of the club. Thriller lacing his fingers together with Mikey’s as he emptied the contents of his stomach into a toilet. _Withdrawal,_ his brain hissed, as a loud buzz cut out the music from Mikey’s ears. For a moment, the white noise drowned everything out before Mikey was shoved back under the current, and then he was choking for breath and trying to claw to the surface even as he tried to push his face as far into the cold surface of the bar as he could.

Mikey was still gasping when the music ground to a pounding halt and then there was just silence for a moment.

“Fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Frank was chanting beside him. Gerard was trying to dig his hands into his eyes, it looked like. Frank noticed Mikey looking over and released his own head to pull Gerard’s hands away. He moved in close, pressing words to Gerard’s skin before Gerard finally let his hands drop.

“Killjoys,” a tall man behind the bar said. “Follow me.” He came out and around, motioning with his head for them to come along. Frank kept one of Gerard’s wrists in his hand and grabbed Mikey with the other, pulling them along in his wake.

They made their way through the crush of bodies and Mikey couldn’t let go of his head until a heavy door separated them from everything.

“What the fuck was that?” Frank asked, angry and dark where he was standing in front of Gerard and his wide eyes, protecting even though he couldn’t take up as much space as his brother.

Mikey tune them both out, trusting Frank to keep an eye on Gerard as he went over to Ray who was curled up in a corner. “Hey,” Mikey whispered, putting a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “How’re you holding up?”

“I brought her here,” Ray whispered back, eye wide. “And I brought her to the desert and I brought her to Korse and Korse is going to kill her, what the fuck have I done, what the fuck have I _done_?”

“We’ll find her,” Mikey said. “Thriller will know how to find her, Jet.”

“Jet Star,” Ray snorted. “Right. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“I don’t know!” Thriller was shouting, when Mikey turned back around. “I didn’t know how to deal with these flashes the last time it happened, why the fuck would you think I’d know now?”

“I thought you fucking said you remembered how the memories came back!” Frank shouted right back. He was tense, his body a series of lines all strung up and ready to burst.

“I don’t know anything!” Thriller yelled. “I didn’t fucking do anything last time because you never told us you fucking _died_ , Fun Ghoul!”

“They whating-what now?” Rip asked, but his voice was lost under the tide that was Frank, pushing and straining at his own limits.

Frank stepped forward, and Mikey noticed that he did so at an angle that kept Gerard mostly obscured from Thriller. “You’re telling me you didn’t know the fucking kick drum out there wouldn’t level us like a goddamn sledgehammer the first time we heard it?”

“I --” Thriller said, holding his ground because he was just as stubborn as Frank was.

Frank laughed harshly, and Mikey could almost see the sound cutting through Thriller’s restraint. “You _knew_ this would trigger something.”

“I didn’t know how bad it would be,” Thriller growled. “Last time you walked in here on your own, Ghoul, you fucking waltzed in cut up and we just put bandages on you, okay? You put your mind back together yourself. _You_ went head to head with Butcher and fucking did all of your own tattoos, using him as the instrument for your own fucking memories!” He reached out a finger and jabbed Frank in the chest for emphasis. “Ask your tattoos what the fuck happened to you when Korse took you last time, motherfucking goddamn just do it yourself!”

“That’s my fucking burn wound, dick,” Frank spat. He glared at Thriller when the man reached a hand out to repair the damage. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he growled and stormed out of the room.

Gerard watched Frank go and then looked back at Mikey like he was terrified of whatever he’d remembered beneath the fairytale lights of the club. His eyes almost looked like they were trying to say _Sorry_ , and they didn’t have time for that. Mikey moved up to place a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, making sure his older brother was looking at him.

“You’re good,” Mikey said, trying to pick through whatever layers of thought Gerard was under. “Hey, Party, you’re good, okay? Good to me. Whatever you did, whatever you remembered, it doesn’t matter. We have each other and that’s all I care about.”

Gerard blinked past the ghosts in his eyes but nodded. “I always take from you,” he said.

“No,” Mikey said, throwing his arms around Gerard so his idiot brother wouldn’t have anywhere to run away to. “You give, Party. You gave me the desert. You gave me freedom. Life. Okay? I just gave you _you_. You kept you going.”

Gerard snorted. “Okay.”

“Go after your ladylove,” Mikey said, stepping back.

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “Okay.” He smiled shakily at Mikey and then pulled Party Poison back up, ready to face whatever demons he’d seen out in the club. “Love you,” he muttered, before he turned and left through the door they’d come in through.

Mikey watched him go and heaved a sigh. Now it was his turn. “Rip,” he said, looking at the tall man. A slightly shorter but still tall man entered the room, followed by a man who looked like he could only be a few inches shorter than the second. “Cobra. Easy A.”

“You remember us, Kid!” Cobra exclaimed, grin gleaming in the dark. “That’s great!”

“I’m going to have a headache for a week from all this noise,” Mikey said. “But yes. I remember you.”

A grinned at Mikey, too. “It’s good to have you back, Kid. Thriller told us about...you know.”

“Everybody knew except me?!” Rip asked, throwing his long arms up in the air in defeat.

“It’s good to be back,” Mikey said, ignoring the tallest of the three.

A opened his mouth to say something but tilted his head to the side, interrupted by something Mikey couldn’t hear. “Oh shit, Cobra! Is that ‘Single Ladies’ I hear?!”

“Yo, you know it,” Cobra said. “I put on our mix, bro.”

“Fucking A,” A said.

“Mix?” Mikey asked, glancing at Thriller.

“We updated security,” Thriller said with a sigh. He’d apparently told this story before and he was exasperated every time he had to do it. “New prox alarms. They override our systems with ‘Hips Don’t Lie’. Pop tunes from the double 0s, you know. Cobra and A picked it fresh, mixed up a disk with their favourite tunes on it. Music is the enemy of corporate slavery and all that.”

“Boy,” A said, “up next is our fucking jam, we gotta go dance, Cobra. Sorry, Kid. Duty calls.”

Rip nodded. “I gotta get back behind the bar if these miscreants are going to be hogging the dance floor. It’s, uh, nice to see you upright, Kid. I guess. Died? Are you sure?”

Cobra slapped Mikey on the back and pushed Rip out in front of him. A followed behind him, pulling the door to the club shut. Thriller watched them go.

“Dare I ask what their jam is?” Mikey asked.

Thriller snorted. “‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’. They eat that song for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

Mikey smiled and reached a hand out. “We should dance,” he said.

Thriller’s smile froze and Mikey felt his own face falling. “I can’t,” Thriller said.

“I...I remember,” Mikey said, desperate to put the life back in Thriller’s eyes.

“No you don’t,” Thriller muttered. “Don’t lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” Mikey said, clenching his hands into fists. “I fucking...I don’t remember everything, that’s true, but, shit. There’s something between us, don’t you feel it? I know I fucking do and I don’t even remember everything.”

“But that’s all we fucking had,” Thriller said.

“Had? That’s it?” Mikey asked. “Just the past? I thought living under the city was about the fucking present, Thriller. Not memories and not the future, just the now and the here.”

“It is, but --”

“But _what_ ,” Mikey snapped. “I won’t remember if you just let me go. I’m not Fun Ghoul. I can’t get it all back by myself. I don’t have the map of my life inside my skin, okay? I _need_ you.”

Thriller looked like he was about to argue but Mikey held up a hand. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Thriller. If you can’t help --”

“No,” Thriller said. “I...it’s just, you’re _different_. Ghoul was, too, when he came back last time, but he and I didn’t have what...whatever it is that we have.”

Mikey stepped closer to him. “I got back more of what I lost under the lights out there than I ever did out in the desert,” he said, moving closer until Thriller stopped him with a hand on his hip.

“What did you remember?” Thriller asked, looking up at Mikey.

Mikey pursed his lips. “Hm, let me see. I remembered...that you would rather drink tea than slam with the best of them. And the way your eyes are dark and light at the same time.”

“What else?” Thriller asked, not pulling away.

Mikey leaned down, slow and careful, until their lips were almost touching. “I remember the way that you kiss.”

“Oh,” Thriller breathed. “Is that so?”

“I remember,” Mikey said, “that if I do this...” he moved forward to capture Thriller’s lower lip between his teeth, grinning in satisfaction when Thriller moaned.

“Fuck,” Thriller groaned, when Mikey pulled away.

“How about we go somewhere else,” Mikey whispered, making wide eyes in Jet’s direction.

“Yes, right,” Thriller breathed. “Uh, we have another room...my office, actually, in this club.”

“Yes,” Mikey said. He let Thriller take his hand and spared one last look at Jet, who blinked sadly but didn’t make to move from his corner. Then he couldn’t think anything because the lights were flashing and the crowds were pulsing, and now that he knew what to expect, Mikey _missed_ this place. Thriller seemed to know just how to move through the crowds, and it took them less time than Mikey would have thought before Thriller was closing another heavy door and pressing Mikey up against it.

“Missed you,” Thriller said, before he pressed his lips to Mikey’s. Thriller was always something different, whether it be a manic ball of fire or a dark shadow, but today he was treating Mikey like he was fragile. He traced the inside of Mikey’s mouth with his tongue and Mikey pressed back, spreading his legs apart and hitching his hips up against Thriller’s.

“Fuck,” Thriller said, pulling way to lick a stripe up Mikey’s neck that sent shivers down Mikey's spine. Thriller seemed to remember this, because he zipped Mikey’s jacket away and dug his teeth into Mikey’s collarbone, sucking on the spot after so red blossomed against the white of Mikey’s skin.

He didn’t say anything, just observed the mark with satisfaction and then pulled the rest of Mikey’s jacket away. “Missed me or missed fucking me?” Mikey asked. His laughter turned into a groan when Thriller pressed his thigh up.

“I missed everything,” Thriller muttered into the skin below Mikey’s ear.

“Well,” Mikey panted, trying to keep a grasp on his coherency, “you should still fuck me.”

Thriller stopped moving. No, that was the _opposite_ of what Mikey wanted him to do. “Oh,” Thriller said, and swallowed. “Yes, I...yes, get on my desk.”

“Mm, romantic,” Mikey said, missing the press of Thriller’s thigh when the man moved back but he did as he’d been bid.

“You know me,” Thriller muttered, unzipping his pants and shoving them down to his thighs. No underwear. Interesting.

“Romantic _and_ eager,” Mikey said, giggling.

“Fuck you,” Thriller said, “you have to keep your boots on when we’re here. None of that precious coddling shit we get to do out in the desert.”

“Oh, hard and fast,” Mikey said. “I like that.”

Thriller grinned and shoved Mikey onto his back. “I know you do.”

Mikey undid his own pants while Thriller fumbled in a drawer, emerging with some kind of tube. Mikey didn’t have underwear on either, but that was less for convenience’s sake and more because he was lazy. He got them down and then Thriller was up near his face, kissing him like he needed to steal the breath from Mikey’s lungs to survive. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Thriller said, uncapping something. Mikey was going to lift his head up to see what it was when a cool finger circled his hole and slid inside, so instead, Mikey let his head fall back on the desk. “Mmm, you’re tight,” Thriller mumbled, swallowing the moan Mikey made when he slid in a second finger.

“Hard and fast,” Mikey choked out, “come on.”

“Yeah,” Thriller said. “Give me a minute.”

“A minute? I can’t wait a whole fucking minute,” Mikey said, but Thriller chose that moment to push forward and all the air left Mikey’s lungs like he was a fucking vacuum set the wrong way.

“Fine, a second,” Thriller grunted. “You’re so fucking technical.”

“Less talking now,” Mikey said, trying to motion with his hands that Thriller should fucking move or something. The older man apparently got the drift because he did start moving. Mikey wrapped his legs around Thriller’s torso as best as he could with his pants and knees in the way.

“Fuck, Kobra,” Thriller panted, changing angles until Mikey saw stars and moaned long and loud. “You’re so fucking, I, _fuck_.”

Mikey nodded, desperately leaning up to kiss Thriller. Uncoordinated as they were, it was less a kiss and more them bumping their noses together, but Mikey figured that Thriller got the picture.

“Fucking love you,” Thriller groaned, wrapping one hand around Mikey’s cock the next second.

“Fuck,” Mikey moaned, back arching with Thriller, in him and around him, and he didn’t last long before he was coming all over his bloodstained t-shirt. Thriller followed close behind, pounding into Mikey and finally coming with a shout. He collapsed onto Mikey, which wasn’t all that bad except for the burn in the middle of Mikey’s chest.

“Ow,” Mikey said, wincing when Thriller pulled out and moved his head.

Thriller wiped them both up as best as he could with what looked like an old t-shirt. Mikey waved him away. “Good enough,” he said, pulling his pants up. He ignored the mess on his shirt and zipped his jacket closed before falling to the ground next to Thriller.

“You and your brother are disgusting,” Thriller muttered. His eyes were closed and he let his head fall onto Mikey’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Mikey agreed. “You love it though.”

Thriller chuckled. He was silent for a moment, and he took Mikey’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Still hurts, huh? Your chest?”

“I got shot yesterday,” Mikey said. “Yeah it still fucking hurts.”

“Everything’s so fucked up,” Thriller muttered.

Mikey sighed and nuzzled the tip of Thriller’s ear. “Less up and more fucked now,” he muttered.

Thriller laughed. They’d be okay, Mikey thought, the two of them. After a few minutes, Thriller pulled Mikey to his feet and led him out into the club proper. “Just like the old times,” Thriller said, with a laugh, into Mikey’s ear.

“Yeah,” Mikey shouted back, grinning at the dazzling smile that Thriller was beaming at him. The smile stayed for a minute, until a sultry drumbeat pounded through the speakers.

“What?” Mikey asked, searching Thriller’s eyes. Thriller just tugged Mikey in and kissed him, fingers tangling in Mikey’s hair before he pulled away.

Thriller shook his head and pointed to the speakers just as a woman’s voice followed the man’s, low and sweet and everything that Mikey wished it wasn’t.

“We have to go,” Thriller shouted, ignoring the chaos that the club had turned into with the beginning of a simple song. Mikey reached for Thriller’s hand and held on, tight.

_Oh baby when you talk like that  
You make a woman go mad  
So be wise and keep on  
Reading the signs of my body_

_And I'm on tonight  
You know my hips don't lie  
And I'm starting to feel it's right  
All the attraction, the tension  
Don't you see baby, this is perfection_


	2. Fun Ghoul

**Chapter 1**

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Frank snapped, jerking away from Thriller’s outstretched hand. He left the room and its gawping inhabitants behind. The weight of their stares was too much for him to handle; between Rip’s disbelief at them coming back to life, Thriller’s willingness but inability to help, Gerard’s helplessness, Ray’s brokenness, Mikey’s fucking everything, Frank felt like he was being crushed without his permission. He didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, of being unable to do anything to stop his brain from unearthing memories that flattened him like an insect. It made him want to fuck someone else up, make them feel what he was feeling.

The drum beat pounded in Frank’s veins, alive and looking for vengeance. He twitched his head to get past the memories that threatened to overwhelm him like they had at the door. He could ride over them, let them fill him, but he didn’t need to pay attention to that. What he _needed_ was to be done with whatever resetting process was happening.

His blood was boiling with needs. He needed to get in a fight. Shout at someone. Fuck, he needed a fucking drink. Anything to avoid standing around uselessly, waiting for his body to set itself back to normal.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and headed towards the bar. Rip was back, handling two bottles of liquid at any time, pouring drink after drink. Someone jostled Frank on their way to pick up something blue and Frank snapped. He growled, hooking his foot around the boy’s calves to stop him in his tracks before he shoved the boy’s shoulder as hard as he could to make him topple over.

He could feel Rip’s eyes on him, could practically feel the man’s arms hesitating mid-pour, but Frank was focused on the white-haired boy who’d tried to push past him.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” the boy shouted, turning around to face Frank. His eyebrows were drawn together but he froze when he saw Frank.

Frank could see hesitation warring with anger on the boy’s face. _Good_. The boy opened his mouth to say something but Frank got there first. “Watch where you’re going, you little shit,” he snarled. It was equal parts satisfying and disappointing to watch the kid’s eyes widen with fear. Frank had wanted to _fight_ , not scare the kid off with his fucking desert reputation.

A hand on his shoulder made him stiffen. The warmth of Gerard’s arm bracing him in made Frank want to growl and snap. Instead he just waited, arms still tense with the suspense of wanting to hit something.

“What do we have here, Fun Ghoul?” Gerard drawled, his voice brushing across Frank’s ear.

“Nothing,” Frank muttered, still watching the little punk’s every move. The kid’s eyes had widened exponentially when Gerard had said his name. “Just another fucking bright-eyed motorbaby that thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

“I -- I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t know --” the kid stuttered.

Gerard chuckled. “Now, now, we don’t want any trouble,” he said.

“ _I_ want trouble,” Frank growled, but Gerard huffed out a laugh and ignored him.

“Run along, kid,” he said. The kid booked it as soon as Gerard said it.

Frank waited for the kid to disappear into the crowd before jerking away from Gerard. He hopped up to the bar, trying to make it look like he’d been aiming for this all along. His head _hurt_ and he hadn’t even gotten to punch anybody yet. He was getting more wound up by the second. He tapped his fingers on the surface of the bar, watching the tattoos blur with the motion.

“C’mon, Ghoul,” Gerard said.

“No,” Frank muttered.

“Were you really gonna beat up a kid?” Gerard asked. Frank chanced a look over his shoulder and saw that Gerard was leaning on the bar beside Frank, his head tilted to the side just a bit. Like a fucking model. He was so fucking proud and relaxed, fitting right into the role he was supposed to play.

“Yes,” Frank said, narrowing his eyes. If Gerard didn’t think Frank could do it, Frank would just have to hunt that fucking punk down and hit until he found blood. The kick drum beat picked up like a jackhammer, driving itself into Frank’s brain, in a white room, a fist drawing back and hitting again and again and again and _again_.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Frank shouted, shoving Gerard away. The man had moved closer, putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder when Frank had squeezed his eyes shut, and Frank didn’t _need_ pity, he _needed_ some strong fucking alcohol, that’s what he _needed_ , fuck.

“No,” Gerard said. “I’m going to stay right here. What do you need, Ghoul? Someone to beat up? Hit me.”

His eyes were dark and glittering and Frank snarled and shoved at his shoulders again. “I don’t want whatever the fuck you have, I want a fucking drink and I want you to get the fuck away from me!”

“Is that really what you want?” Gerard asked, stepping closer.

Frank shoved him back, curling his hands into fists. “Yes!”

“What do you want, Ghoul?” Gerard asked, stepping closer again.

Frank just stepped away, breathing fast as he looked for a way out, some kind of escape route or hiding place. “I fucking --”

“What do you _want_?” Gerard asked again, and this time, Frank didn’t step back, he just grabbed the front of Gerard’s stupid leather jacket and pulled him in. Their lips crashed together like the lights above the DJ, painful and blinding and just right. He pushed Gerard away after a second, grinning at the way Gerard stumbled. His back hit the counter of the bar and Frank moved in before Gerard had come to a halt, pushing him further, up against the high counter. He climbed on the legs of two chairs so he could be higher than Gerard, biting down on his lower lip.

Gerard’s hands twisted in the material of Frank’s vest, moving up his back the next second, under the fabric, past where Frank knew he had a pair of guns tattooed. Frank moved to the side, nipping the bone of Gerard’s jaw. He felt the resulting moan vibrate through Gerard’s throat and so he bit that next. Gerard’s breath caught in his throat and his hips hitched up against Frank’s before he gasped and shook his head.

“Not here,” Gerard said, pushing at Frank’s shoulders until Frank moved away. His eyes were wide, pupils close to blown even in the bright light of the room.

“Yeah, don’t fuck on my bar, please,” Rip said, leaning over to put a pair of drinks next to them. “Glitter’ll shoot you in the ass.”

“Fine,” Frank said. He held Rip’s eyes as he reached over and shoved the two glasses off the bar. “Oops.”

“Fuck,” Gerard muttered, below Rip’s indignant cry at having glass and liquid spilling all over. “Bathroom.”

“Yes to all of the above,” Frank said. “Follow me.” He stepped down from the stools and pushed his way through the crowd, clearing a path for Gerard. It was a worryingly long moment before a hot body was pressed up against him. Gerard’s hands found Frank’s hips and his thumbs dipped below the waistband.

“Faster,” Gerard said, nosing at the shell of Frank’s ear. “I picked some pockets.”

“You're such a fucking _thief_ ,” Frank growled. He shivered at the feeling of Gerard’s chuckle rumbling against his back and then they were through the crowd and past the door that Frank knew led to one of the club’s bathrooms. Thriller always had them put in the same basic place; he’d said once that while it was a good idea to change the locations of offices and exits, bathrooms were a staple of safety.

“Out,” Frank snapped at the single man at the urinal. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “Zip up your fucking pants,” he snapped, dragging the man out and slamming the door behind him. “If anybody’s in the stalls I suggest you leave right the fuck now,” he shouted, waiting no longer than a second before he pushed Gerard up against the door to the bathroom. He flicked the door’s lock as he shoved his thigh between Gerard’s legs.

“Fuck,” Gerard muttered.

“Less talking,” Frank mumbled, licking his way into Gerard’s mouth. The older man groaned around his tongue and Frank held him in place when Gerard tried to thrust up. “No,” Frank said, pulling away when Gerard tried to move again. Gerard panted into the space between them.

“But Fr-- Ghoul,” Gerard whined, pushing his hands up Frank’s shirt and trying to pull him close again.

“No,” Frank said firmly. “You’re not going to come in your pants before someone gets fucked, here.”

Gerard froze and licked his lips, eyes wide. “Oh,” he breathed. “Right, yes, fuck.”

“Really articulate today,” Frank muttered, moving his mouth over the red spot on Gerard’s neck where he’d bit down earlier. He spoke into the older man’s skin. “I like that. You beg, Party Poison. Beg for me.” He bit down for the second time and Gerard moaned, loud and clear. His neck was already shining with sweat from the club crowded with bodies and the heat between the two of them pressed together. Frank soothed the spot he’d just bit with his tongue, tasting the salt on his skin. He dragged his teeth along Gerard’s jaw on his way to pressing their mouths back together, where Gerard opened up for him instantly.

Gerard groaned again when Frank hitched up his thigh. Gerard was definitely fully hard and Frank couldn’t resist thrusting them together once more. “Frankie,” he moaned, and then “Ow, fuck!” when Frank stepped all the way back and slapped him. “The fuck was that for?”

“You fucking used my real name, dipshit,” Frank said.

“Oh,” Gerard said, blinking dazedly. “Fuck.”

“Keep a lid on it, _Poison_ ,” Frank said, casting an eye around for something he could use as a lubricant. Soap, no thanks. Water, even more of a no.

“Are we done?” Gerard asked.

“Does it feel like we’re fucking done?” Frank asked. “Fuck it, we’ll just use spit.”

“What are you looking for? Lube?” Gerard asked when Frank got to work undoing the buttons of his jeans. “Because I told you, I picked some pockets earlier.” He dug in the back pocket of his pants and pulled out two small packets. “Figured we’d need ‘em.”

Frank blinked at the packets. “Fuck me, you’re good,” he breathed.

“Actually,” Gerard said, wriggling his hips so he could shove his impossibly tight pants down to his knees in one swift motion, “I think you should fuck me.”

Frank’s mouth fell open and he paused, mid zip. “What?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, grinning. “Get your fucking pants off. But keep your boots on, you’re supposed to.”

“Oh, now you can talk,” Frank muttered, trying to remember how hands were supposed to work. He somehow managed to get his pants off and then Gerard’s hands were on his cock, rolling the condom on. He ripped open the packet of lube and dipped his fingers in it before handing the packet to Frank.

“Come on,” Gerard moaned, arching his back as he reached behind himself.

“Goddamn,” Frank breathed. He slicked his cock up as quickly as he could and then leaned up to kiss Gerard, who moaned into Frank’s mouth.

“I’m fucking ready,” Gerard said, trying to pull Frank closer with one hand.

Frank stepped over the jeans that Gerard had insisted he keep on. He had to grip the redhead’s thighs when Gerard’s feet slipped on the floor, but Gerard grabbed Frank’s shoulders and hauled himself above Frank before he maneuvered himself over Frank’s cock. Frank had to press his forehead to Gerard’s sternum to keep them both steady as he navigated the head of his cock inside Gerard.

“More,” Gerard said, before he dropped himself all the way down. “Ah, shit, yeah.”

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Frank breathed. His fingers were shaking on Gerard’s thighs, which were gripping Frank’s hips. His legs were trembling with the effort of standing still; he just wanted to fucking move. “You sure?”

“Yeah, go, fucking do it,” Gerard gasped.

“You want me to fuck you?” Frank asked, unzipping Gerard’s jacket before he pulled almost all the way out. He moved as slowly as he could, dragging his nose along the filthy fabric of Gerard’s shirt. “Tell me what you want, Party Poison.”

“Yes,” Gerard said breathily, “yes yes yes.”

“Tell me,” Frank growled into Gerard’s chest.

“I want you to fuck me,” Gerard said.

“Good,” Frank said, and pushed back in. Gerard wasn’t complaining about it being too much so he just went for it, holding Gerard up and slamming him into the door as he thrust in and out.

“Fuck, Ghoul,” Gerard moaned.

Frank kept up his pace and nosed around Gerard’s chest until he found a nipple. “Say my name,” he said, nipping at the flesh beneath Gerard’s shirt.

“Gh- Ghoul,” Gerard moaned again. He was being too fucking loud, but the sounds just crashed over Frank and made him push in even harder. Gerard’s back arched when Frank changed his angle and even though the position made Frank’s thighs burn, it was fucking worth it just to hear the hitch in Gerard’s breath.

Frank was not going to last much longer. He bit Gerard’s other nipple, rolling it between his teeth and the man choked, back arching as he came between them. Frank pushed his face into Gerard’s chest and just kept moving as he came, too, white bursting behind his eyes.

“Motherfucker,” he breathed, when he could pull out. Gerard was mostly limp as he slid to the floor. He even let Frank mop up his shirt with the wet cleaning towels.

“Fuck,” Frank repeated, when he was satisfied that his vest didn’t look too much like it had just been come all over. He was about to sit down beside Gerard when music started playing in the bathroom. It definitely hadn’t been doing that before.

“The fuck is happening?” Frank asked, pulling his pants up over the sounds of a man chanting _“No fighting”_. He wanted to lie here forever, not get up and walk around.

“I don’t fucking know,” Gerard said. His eyes were closed but he was already standing when Frank finally figured out how the button went in the hole. “Must be important or it wouldn’t be playing in here. Good thing we kept our boots on.”

“Who the fuck is Shakira, Shakira?” Frank asked. He was probably scowling but Gerard ignored him and laced their fingers together, pulling him out of the bathroom.

The club, which only a few minutes ago had been full of life and music, was now absolute pandemonium. Frank turned away from Gerard, automatically assuming a defensive position. A handful of people tried to run too close to them; Frank snarled and shoved them away from his leader. He was so busy keeping the air behind Gerard free that he didn’t notice Mikey until Gerard put a hand on Frank’s shoulder and turned him around.

“Thriller says BLI is coming,” Mikey said. His eyes were wide, but he looked just as relaxed as Gerard did beneath his Killjoy mask. Of course he did, he’d just been with Thriller, hadn’t he?

“Where’s Jet?” Gerard asked.

Mikey swore and ducked away from them into the streams of people. On the dance floor, Cobra and his ragtag band were dancing to the music instead of fleeing and Frank watched them until Mikey appeared with Jet and Thriller in tow.

“We have to leave,” Thriller said. “Back entrance. Follow me.”

He led them away from the people, through a dark passage that Frank definitely could not remember having existed, and to a long, narrow tunnel that they walked through until it emptied them out into the large water main where they had parked their car.

“We’re gonna have to take the tunnels out,” Thriller said. He squished into the backseat between Frank and Ray. “I don’t know how they fucking found us again. Seems like it’s every other goddamn night now.”

Frank sat up as he remembered something. “Hey, Party. Earlier you said something about boots, what was it?”

Frank could see Gerard’s frown in the rearview mirror as the older man concentrated on driving through the narrow tunnels. “That we’re supposed to keep them on?”

“Yeah, that,” Frank said, ignoring the look Thriller was giving him. “How’d you remember that?”

Gerard met Frank’s eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t,” he said. “Someone told me.”

“Who?” Frank asked.

“Before we left the bar,” Gerard said. “This guy told me he was glad we were back and that I should keep my boots on and then he winked at me so I picked his pockets and got out of there.”

“Fuck,” Frank said, falling back in his seat. “There’s your problem.”

“Me?” Gerard asked, at the same time as Mikey said, “I don’t get it.”

“Not you,” Frank said. “Thriller.”

“What?” Thriller asked.

“That guy fucking knew we’d been dusted,” Frank said. “Obviously. He said he was glad we were back? Who the fuck knows that except you and maybe the ones that did it to us? Fuck, they _know_.” He looked at Gerard when he said it, but the redhead just frowned.

“Are you saying we have a leak?” Thriller asked.

Frank looked out at tiles of the tunnel, whipping past as they drove faster and faster to get away from the scourge above them. He didn’t look at Thriller, whose face was probably a mask of concern, or at Gerard, who didn’t seem to realize that having BLI know about the two of them could not be a good thing.

“Yes.”

**Chapter 2**  
During the day, the desert was a death trap.

The sun’s ultraviolet rays would fry anyone who attempted to brave them for more than an hour without protective sunblock. There was radiation, too, from bombs past, which made some of the zones surrounding Battery City utterly inhabitable. Because of its unstable nature, some areas were more strongly irradiated than others and they were occasionally home to unbreathable air which made your skin tingle and glow if you were exposed to it for too long. Harsh winds during the day kicked up miniaturized sandstorms that left behind the effervescent piles of bones of those who had not found shelter quickly enough.

But even with the sun, wind, and radiation all working together to decimate all life under the clear blue sky, night in the desert was exponentially worse. Though the violence of the sun forced the desert’s inhabitants to protect their skin, at night, the temperature dropped drastically. Some of the zones that might previously have been warm enough to fry unsuspecting wanderers turned into tundras beneath the pale glimmer of the moon.

The desert at night held all the dangers of the day, but all of them were invisible. Radiation lurked in the shadows, hovering closer to the ground where it remained undetected by the desert dwellers’ modified rad-scanners. It was far from the only thing to come out and strike at unsuspecting ankles but it was far deadlier than the rattling snakes that Frank had often found buried in the sand.

The Trans AM whipped past the marking point of Zone 2 at a breakneck speed. The wind that rushed into the car through its windows was clean and cold and dry. Even with his vest zipped all the way and his sleeves rolled down, Frank felt the desert air all the way to his bones. He was warm where his side was pressed up against Thriller, but it was a shallow heat that wouldn’t stick. He felt jittery, like he ought to be doing something. Thriller and Ray were both dozing beside him, but Frank just couldn’t get warm enough to sit still.

“Ghoul,” Gerard said from the front, his voice low so as not to disturb the three other passengers. Mikey had drifted off the moment they’d burst into the blacks and blues of the desert, and Frank could see his head following the car’s motions. Frank’s nerves were all on edge, and he couldn’t settle down; he felt apart from everything.

“Something isn’t right,” Frank muttered. He curled into the door, trying to heat up his left arm by rubbing it.

“What do you mean?” Gerard asked.

“I just...” Frank fell silent, frustrated. His arm was getting even colder now, so cold that it hurt. It was like the chill of the desert centralizing into his elbow. “It feels like something’s...I don’t know. Off? Fuck, are we almost there?”

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be another five minutes,” Gerard said. “Are you okay?”

“No, my fucking elbow hurts,” Frank muttered. He gritted his teeth together when the pain in his joint made his stomach roll. “Fuck, this is worse than the burn wounds.”

“Worse? It wasn’t hurting before, did you hit it on something?”

Frank drew in shallow breaths to keep from hurling. “No,” he said, pushing his face against the cool window. It felt like he was heating up on the outside while his insides turned to ice.

“We’re almost there, Ghoul.”

His elbow throbbed suddenly and Frank clapped a hand over his mouth, clenching his eyes shut. “Shit,” he gasped, tucking his elbow in as close to his stomach as he could. A spike of pain drove into his elbow like someone was hammering a nail into his joint.

“Ghoul?” Gerard asked. “Ghoul?!”

Beside Frank, Thriller stirred. Frank tuned out the motions of the car and the other people and everything in the car that wasn’t his fucking elbow. “I’m going to throw up,” he said through his hand.

“Can you hold on?” Gerard asked.

“What’s wrong now?” Thriller asked, voice low.

“Ghoul? We’re almost there, fuck. Kobra, wake up.”

“What?” Kobra muttered sleepily.

“Ghoul’s elbow hurts.”

Thriller sat up beside Frank just as another wave of pain made Frank hold his breath. He did not want to throw up inside the car. Fuck.

“His elbow? Party, did you say his elbow was hurting?”

“We’re there, it’s fine, we can get out of the car and deal with it.”

“When did this start? Ghoul,” Thriller said, touching Frank’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Frank gasped, pushing Thriller away and shouldering his way out of the car the moment they pulled in to the garage.

He stumbled a few steps away from the car and doubled over, heaving into the ground. He hadn’t eaten anything for a long time, so almost nothing came up. But his elbow wouldn’t _stop._

“Ghoul,” Thriller said, crouching down next to Frank. “Is this the elbow that’s hurting you?”

Frank jerked his left elbow away when Thriller reached out to touch it. “Yes. Fuck off.”

“Fuck,” Thriller muttered. “Get up, Ghoul. Everyone get your guns out.”

“What? He’s sick,” Gerard said. He knelt next to Frank. “Are you doing better? Was it the car?”

“No,” Frank moaned.

“Guns,” Thriller repeated, a too-familiar whine sounding from his gun. “BLI’s here.”

“How do you know?” Mikey asked, but Frank heard the soft slide of guns being drawn from their holsters all around.

“Not just BLI if it’s hurting that bad,” Thriller said. “Fucking Scarecrow. Your Ghoul here’s got some kind of fucking radar in his elbow, it lets him know when they’re around. Shit, we should just leave.”

“Scarecrow?” Frank asked, drawing Fun Ghoul and using Gerard’s shoulder to push himself to his feet. The word itself lessened the pain that was concentrated around his joint and he stretched his arm to rid himself of the rest of it. He recognized the name as something to fear, something he would have to fight off. His stomach settled down, perhaps in anticipation of a fight to come.

“The bad ones,” Thriller said.

“He has a bionic elbow?” Ray asked. “How’d he manage that?”

“No, not a, fuck,” Thriller muttered. “It’s like, you know how you can tell when it rains if you break something?”

“Yeah,” Ray said. “What does that have to do with Ghoul's robot joints?”

“They’re not robotic, he’s just, they did something to him when they took him last time, okay? We don’t know what, but that elbow is some kind of scary fucking magic, okay?”

“So he has a Scarecrow sense,” Mikey said, “and it’s tingling.”

Thriller nodded.

“Will he be okay to fight if there’s...Scarecrow here?” Gerard asked, standing behind Frank.

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be fine in a few minutes,” Thriller said. “Just prime your fucking guns, okay? Me and Kobra will take the back, you three go up the front. Keep an eye on Ghoul. They’re probably going to be in every room, so watch out.”

Mikey gave Gerard a worried look but followed Thriller into the diner. “You good?” Gerard asked, Party Poison in his hands. His gun wasn’t humming like Thriller’s - Frank remembered now that Mikey had fixed them a while ago so they could be stealthier.

“I’m fine,” Frank muttered, through gritted teeth. “Let’s go while we still have the element of surprise.”

“Right,” Gerard said. He led the way into the hall, where Frank saw Mikey crouched in front of Ray and Grace’s room. Thriller was in front of Frank’s room and he stared at Gerard when they entered. The place was as close to black as Frank had ever seen it, but he could just make out Thriller holding up three fingers among the shadows.

Gerard nodded and slunk down the hall, putting his back up beside the entrance to the room he slept in. Ray was right behind him, ready with his hand on the doorknob of the bathroom. Frank stood beside Gerard on the side closest to Mikey’s room. He kept his eye on Gerard instead of Thriller, who Frank knew was counting down to zero so that when Gerard moved, Frank could move in the opposite direction before the older man had time to notice Frank wasn’t behind him any more.

The moment Gerard tensed to burst into his room, Frank primed Fun Ghoul and slipped away from Gerard into Mikey’s room. Frank shot to the left of the door the moment he opened it without looking or thinking. The flash of his gun illuminated the white body for a second as it fell. He threw himself over the corpse just as a shot hit the wall where he had been standing. He tucked into a roll and his arm swung out, tracing the light blast’s path to it’s source. He shot the second body before it could get him. As the blast lit up its face, Frank saw the grey logo on its hood.

Fucking Scarecrow were here. Thriller had been right.

Frank patted his elbow. “Good job, buddy,” he muttered, getting to his feet. He hesitated for a moment before pulling Mikey’s bed out from the wall. There was a small door tucked behind the desk that Mikey had fashioned into a bed. It led to the walk-in-freezer of the kitchen and judging by the frame on the door, Frank had guessed long ago that Gerard and Mikey had built the door in so Mikey could access the freezer directly from his room. The Killjoys kept their supplies of pills and perishable food in there, but Mikey always had several experiments running as far as Frank could remember. Maybe Frank could clear the kitchen of BLI agents before the rest of them got there.

He spun the dial on the combination lock with ease: he had sat down one day when Mikey had been occupied with Thriller and had listened for the numbers for the lock. When he’d figured out the combination, he had put the lock back on the little door and had walked away.

 _10 - 7 - 4_ and the lock popped open.

He pulled the door from Mikey’s room shut behind him and made his way through the pitch black room, moving slowly to avoid spots that he thought were probably shelves. He paused at the entrance to the kitchen, opening the lock that kept the freezer shut from the inside as quietly as he could. If there were two Crows or even Dracs at each entrance then there would be at least four in the kitchen. Luckily, the door to the freezer led right to the space between the two long, stainless steel counter-islands that previous humans had probably used for food production and that the Killjoys generally used in the place of hospital beds.

The air in the freezer was cold but Frank forced himself to take in a deep breath to prepare himself. He gave Fun Ghoul another charge before he pulled open the door to the kitchen. Hidden within the freezer he was able to take out the two Dracs who were standing by the back door with a clean shot to each of their heads.

The second he came out into the kitchen proper he had to dive for cover behind one of the islands. There were two Dracs by the entrance to the diner’s main area and he figured he could shoot those quickly enough but he’d seen another Crow lingering by the stoves. The robotic beings were all moving towards Frank, their feet quietly shuffling on the dusty floor. He dove towards the table nearest to the door, barely avoiding the Scarecrow’s rapid light blast. He propped himself up onto one knee and from there he was able to shoot one of the Dracs in the face. It fell slowly enough that Frank was able to shoot around it to get the second Drac. As he moved to try and use one of the Dracs as a shield, the Crow changed position as well, stepping back around the tables that Frank had just been using for cover.

Frank swore under his breath and pushed the falling Drac out of his way. He primed Fun Ghoul and vaulted over the counter nearest to him, trying to get closer to the Crow. It stood up as Frank jumped and fired a shot which Frank barely managed to dodge. He slid off the edge of the island, smashing his hip while trying to regain his footing. He thought his hand might have gotten clipped by the shot but he could feel next to nothing over the adrenaline buzzing through his veins. He raised Fun Ghoul and shot the Scarecrow between its dead BLI eyes before it could prime its gun a second time.

As it fell to the floor, Frank took a second to breathe. He gave Fun Ghoul another charge, surveying the damage. Running into one of the islands might have been loud enough to alert anybody waiting in the dining area to his presence; Frank turned around just as the door opened. He caught the first Drac in the ear and shot it a second time when it stumbled. There was another pair of whites at the front of the diner that Frank could see through the crack in the door. He took two steps to his right so he wouldn’t be in their line of sight and ducked down to wait for the inevitable second Drac to walk into the kitchen.

He heard the garbled sound of Drac language being muttered before the door creaked gently. Frank breathed in deep and then rose, shooting the Drac before it could even move its gun in his direction. The door to the diner tried to swing shut but was blocked by the corpse. Frank made his way around the counter to snag the Drac’s gun from its hand. He hefted the white object in his left hand and made sure Fun Ghoul was still humming in his right before he kicked the kitchen doors open and threw the white gun out into the diner. The noise and the flash of white distracted the two Crows by the front door long enough so Frank could shoot one of them.

Unlike the Dracs that Frank had so easily taken down in the kitchen area, however, Crows both thought and learned quickly. The second one started shooting the moment it could see Frank, moving so it could be partially covered by one of the tables in the diner. Frank hid behind the lunch counter. He peeked above the lip of it and had to duck down quickly to avoid being shot. This would be much easier if he had someone to cover his back. The others were probably just checking Mikey’s room for him now: they wouldn’t make it out to the diner’s main area before Frank took care of this Crow anyway.

He inched to the side, trying not to make a sound that might alert the Crow to the fact that he was moving away from his previous position. He strained to hear the thing moving, not wanting to be surprised by a Crow suddenly popping up from a hiding place he hadn’t yet thought of. Finally, he heard the rustle of clothing shifting and he burst up, firing as quickly as he could until Fun Ghoul whined in protest. The Crow fell over the table it had been hiding behind, dead.

Frank looked around but breathed a sigh of relief. His gun was warm in his hands and he primed Fun Ghoul to relieve her of some of the heat. He made his way over to the Crow and poked it’s head to make sure that it was dead. “Why are there so many of you?” he asked the corpse, not expecting an answer.

“We were sent here.”

The voice made Frank spin around, raising Fun Ghoul on his way. He wasn’t quite quick enough: a Crow he hadn’t seen shot his hand, making him drop his gun. He hissed in pain and tucked his hand to his chest.

“Surprise!” the Crow exclaimed.

“What the fuck?” Frank asked, groping behind him for the dead Crow’s gun with his uninjured hand.

“You can’t use that, Killjoy,” the Crow scoffed. “And don’t even try that little throwing trick of yours. It won’t work on me.” 

“You --” Frank said, holding the gun like he might Fun Ghoul. She was still behind him when he dared to check, powering down from the shock of being dropped. “You can fucking talk.”

“Can’t you?” the Crow asked. It peeled off its mask and beamed at Frank. “Can’t we all?”

Frank stepped to the side. The Crow followed him, keeping itself a few yards away. “But you’re...you’re a Scarecrow. Crows can’t talk.”

“Ah, one half of that statement is correct,” the Crow said. “The other is not. Don’t try and come near me, little guy. I know you’ve got your Killjoy friends waiting in the kitchen.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed. The not-Crow looked just like any other citizen, but there was something in its eyes that made Frank step again. “You were sent here,” he said, “and you aren’t a Scarecrow?”

“Oooh, you hit the nail on the head,” it said. “Aren’t you a clever one? Tell your friends to back off or I’ll shoot you right between the eyes, little Killjoy.”

“I doubt they’re in the kitchen yet,” Frank said.

The not-Crow raised its eyebrows. “Really?” he asked. “You don’t look like the type of person I’m supposed to collect, honestly. No offense, but you’re kind of little.”

“Fuck you,” Frank said. He didn’t trust this talking thing. “You’re not a Crow or a Drac then.”

“Ten points to the midget!” It exclaimed.

“So what are you?” Frank asked.

“Oh, if you don’t remember,” it said, grinning, “then I’m not going to tell you. This is more fun for me, anyway.”

If it wasn’t going to give him any information then Frank was done with it. “Fine,” he said and threw the gun right at the not-Crow’s face. He launched himself at the thing as it dodged the missile and brought his fist around so it slammed into the barrel of the thing’s gun. He followed the force of his spin and kicked out at its knee next, ducking away as he did so from the hand that came down to try and hit his head. He ignored the curses above him and brought his left fist up to the thing’s jaw.

He was about to slam his left elbow into its stomach but the not-Crow snaked its hand out and grabbed his elbow. Fire spread from its hand up Frank’s arm and he tried to jerk out of its grasp, but the thing just held on tighter. It moved a second hand to the back of his neck and he dropped to his knees involuntarily. He could hear familiar voices coming into the main room but before he could cry out for help, the thing’s hand snaked around his eyes and


	3. Party Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we used [kazzbot](http://kazzbot.livejournal.com)'s floral pillow to act out this chapter and now me and Floral Frank are bffs. And then [kazzbot](http://kazzbot.livejournal.com) drew this:

**Chapter 1**

Gerard stared down the barrel of his still-humming gun, breathing heavily.

He’d expected the first agent and had taken care of it fairly easily, but a second one had popped out from behind the open door the moment he’d lowered his gun and had shoved the butt of _its_ gun into the bridge of Gerard’s nose. Surprised, he’d accidentally discharged his gun, and the shot caught the second one in the foot. He’d pulled his gun up and shoot its head repeatedly until it finally keeled over, but the shock kept him standing there long after the thing died.

“Where did you _come_ from?” he asked the corpse, not really expecting an answer.

Mikey appeared at his side, squinting stupidly at Gerard from behind the hair hanging in his face. “Are you talking to a corpse?” he asked. “Also, you’re bleeding.”

“What, I. There were two of them,” Gerard said, still pointing his gun at the Crow on the floor. Blood was slowly spreading from the spots where Gerard had hit it. It was probably dead, but it had popped out from behind the door, what if it came back to life? What if there was a third Scarecrow, lying in wait?

“I know there were,” Mikey said, pulling Gerard back from his thoughts. “There were two in Jet’s room, too. And Ghoul’s. Still doesn’t mean talking to dead bodies yields very positive results.”

“Fucking Scarecrow, even,” Gerard said. “Thriller was right. And, hey. It surprised me.”

“Whatever. You’re still bleeding,” Mikey said matter-of-factly, reaching up to poke Gerard’s nose.

“Ow, motherfucker,” Gerard said, slapping his brother’s hand away. “Fuck off.”

“There were two of them!” Ray hissed from the other side of Gerard. He was just now emerging from the bathroom, and he was shaking his hand out. “I had to fucking punch one in the face.” He stopped a few feet away from them both. “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

“Fuck every one of you,” Gerard muttered. He wiped at his face again, figuring he could worry about the blood streaking his hands later.

“Did either of you check my room?” Mikey asked. “There are probably two in there, too.”

Thriller came out into the hall. “Fucking Scarecrow,” he said, grimacing. “Hey, where’s Ghoul?”

“He’s right behind me,” Gerard said, checking over his shoulder for the familiar flashes of black and yellow. Only, Frank wasn’t there. “Ghoul?”

“My door’s open,” Mikey said, from where he was hanging halfway into his room. “And there are two dead Crows in there. And the freezer door is unlocked. Fuck that shitty little punk right to hell. He knows my fucking combination.”

“Hey, Party, I think your nose is bleeding,” Thriller said.

“Would everyone shut the fuck up about my face already?” Gerard snapped, wiping his nose once more before priming Party. “Ghoul’s fucking gone.”

Mikey came back out into the hall. “The freezer leads to the kitchen,” he said. “He’ll probably be there. If there were two in each of our rooms I bet there’s a bunch in the diner area, too.”

“V formation?” Ray asked, charging Jet Star.

“I’ll take point,” Gerard said, walking down the hall towards the main room of the diner. With all of its booths and tables, it was the perfect place for Crows to be hiding. Why the fuck wasn’t Frank with them? He was good at shooting targets around obstacles. But no, he’d _had_ to move on his own. He was probably already in the diner, ready to brag about the billion Scarecrow he’d taken out before the rest of them had even dusted two. “Ready?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other men who all had their guns primed and raised to fire. He held up three fingers and counted down.

Three.

Two.

One.

He twisted the doorknob quickly, shoving the diner door open with his shoulder. He had a split second to analyze what was happening and he froze inside the room, gun still at the ready.

Frank _was_ in there, but he wasn’t bragging about the overturned tables and white forms draped across them.

The black glove obscuring Frank's eyes and the white arm across his chest did not catch Gerard’s attention as much as the knife pressed to Frank’s throat. The man holding Frank up was hiding behind his limp form. “It really took you all _so_ much longer to get here than I would have liked,” they said.

“Put him down, motherfucker,” Gerard spat. His hands were barely keeping his gun steady. He kept running through his options: he could shoot the person’s arm but then his blast would also catch Frank. He could shoot Frank to get the thing to drop him but then, again, he’d be _shooting Frank_. He could throw his gun but that would also probably hit Frank and then he also wouldn’t have a gun. He stepped to the side, trying to get a clear shot to their head.

“Ah, ah,” the thing said. “I’ll have to ask you not to move again, Party Poison. This knife is quite sharp and I’d really _hate_ for it to slip. Wouldn’t you?”

Gerard looked over at Mikey without moving his head, but Mikey’s eyes were wide, focused on the sight in front of them. “What do you want?” Gerard asked, looking back at Frank, hanging like a dead man with his feet off the floor. Whatever the thing was, it was fucking strong if it could hold Frank up like that. Frank weighed a metric fuckton at the very least.

“I want a lot of things,” the stranger said. “But I’d like first for you to all kindly power down your guns and throw them over to me.”

“Like fuck we’re going to give you our weapons,” Ray snarled.

“Let me guess. Jet Star?” the thing asked with a dark chuckle. It twitched its hand and Gerard choked down a cry when the knife nicked Frank’s skin, red staining tattoo-on-white. “Oh no! Have I accidentally demonstrated to you just how sharp my knife is?” It laughed again and then spat out, voice harsh, “Guns _down_ , Killjoys.”

Mikey met Gerard’s eyes when Gerard glanced over this time, face white. _I don’t know_ , his eyes said. _Can’t get a clear shot._ He looked terrified.

Gerard licked his lips. _But won’t it kill us if we drop our weapons?_

Mikey’s eyebrow twitched. He hated not knowing things, which was why Gerard would have to make a decision.

He slowly lowered Party Poison and turned her off. He heard the sliding sounds of the others powering their guns down in defeat.

He knelt, keeping his eyes on Frank and tossed Party over. “There,” he said as he straightened up, the answering clacks of Kobra and Jet hitting the ground. “Are you happy?” Where was Thriller’s gun? Gerard had only heard three.

“One, two, three,” the thing counted. “One for each of you. Yes, I do believe I am as happy as a clam.”

Gerard tried to keep his face composed. That meant Thriller had been just a split second slower than the rest of them and he hadn’t followed them in. Maybe they still had a chance.

“Are you Scarecrow?” Gerard asked, trying desperately to stall.

“Me?” The thing shifted, revealing a head of brown hair and a face with mostly forgettable features. It moved Frank’s head to the side so it was resting on its shoulder, neck exposed. His arms were hanging so limply at his sides that Gerard would have been afraid that he was already dead, if it weren’t for the cut that was he could see was clearly still bleeding. “A measly little Scarecrow? You must be joking.” It grinned at them. “Come on, you all know what I am, right? Don’t tell me that this _isn’t_ common knowledge in your preciously gritty streets.”

“You’re not Korse,” Gerard said, unable to look away from the soft line of Frank’s throat, marred by the shallow cut that the thing’s knife had left. The man definitely wasn’t entirely human: Gerard had seen that much in the sharp glint of his eyes. But he looked sort of familiar, like any average citizen.

“No, I’m not fucking Korse,” it snapped. It pulled its knife away from Frank and waved it in the air around its head. “Do I look like Korse? Look at this magnificent head of hair. You. Blondie. Tell me how great my hair is.”

Mikey didn’t respond, but Gerard imagined he was probably blinking like a surprised mouse. 

“I don’t look anything like that guy. Why do you lot always compare me to him? Fucking Korse, can’t even shoot a gun properly, always delegating. Do I look like the kind of person who doesn’t do his own dirty work?”

“But you know him,” Gerard said.

“He’s upper class,” Ray muttered, below his breath, his voice so quiet that Gerard almost didn’t catch any of the words. He glanced back at Ray, who whispered, “Third level.”

“Of course I know him, we’re fucking Blackbird, aren’t we?” the thing said, clearly ignoring Ray as Gerard turned back to it. “God, and _she_ said Frankie would have told you everything.” The thing tsked again under its breath and nosed at Frank’s temple. “Bad little Frankie, never does what he’s supposed to, does he?”

“You know Frank, then,” Gerard said. He felt like he was maybe recycling the same three-word sentences but he couldn’t think anything above the voice in his head, screaming _get your hands off my Frank._

“No,” it said, shrugging. “But I’m not the one you should be afraid of now, am I?” It grinned suddenly and planted a kiss on Frank’s cheekbone. “Aww, time’s almost up.  I can see why she likes this one, it’s the perfect size for, like, everything. I just want to cuddle it, but unfortunately I don’t think that’s going to happen today.”

“Wait, what are you going to do with him?” Gerard asked, stepping forward.

“Back off, Killjoy,” the thing said. “I’m not _done_ here, but I think it might be time for me to jet off in a few seconds. Hah! Get it, jet? That’s his name!” It kept its eye on Gerard as it crouched down to pick up a white gun from the floor. Frank’s head was still on its shoulder when it stood up, and the thing hadn’t moved its hand from his eyes yet.

“What did you fucking do to him, can you at least tell us that?” Gerard asked.

“This isn’t a fucking game, you don’t just get free answers like that,” the thing said, rolling its eyes. It primed its gun with one hand and put it on the table in front of it, scanning their faces before reaching to the side to wipe its knife off on the dead Crow draped over a table.

If only they’d gotten here sooner, they might have been able to get to Frank before the - what had it called itself? A Blackbird? Gerard pushed past the thoughts of whatifs and couldhaves and forced himself to stay in the moment. Whenever he tried to move, the thing hurt Frank, but maybe if they all moved at once one of them would be able to get to their guns before it killed Frank altogether. He looked over at Mikey, broadcasting _left_. Mikey’s lips tightened but he nodded, fingers flexing at his sides.

“Please,” Gerard said, clasping his hands behind his back. He flicked his fingers to his right, hoping that Ray would see them and know what he meant. “Just...please, what...is he okay?”

It sighed dramatically, tapping the flat of its knife against its thigh. “You’re such a _bore_. Your little bird is _fine_ , I’ve only put him to sleep. There’s no reason for you to panic just yet: I’d hold off on that for a minute if I were you.”

They could go around the thing and get Frank if they moved fast enough and at the same time. Gerard’s muscles tense from waiting. He wanted to move, but the Blackbird grinned and shifted its weight.

“You know what’s more fun, is if I tell you what’s going to happen in a bit. Your filthy rat of a friend is going to burst through those kitchen doors any second now and I’m going to have to shoot him in the shoulder. And before he does that, I’m going to follow the very specific instructions I was given. And then I’m going to leave and you are all going to let me go. Doesn’t that sound nice for everyone?”

Gerard’s hands twitched at his sides. He was aching to just shove his fist into the white-clad thing’s face, but he couldn’t do it from this far away.

“I wish this one had just come quietly and not fought so hard,” the thing said, running its thumb against the back of its knife. “Then I’d have more time with it. It has such a pretty little face, don’t you think, Party?” It sighed again and twisted Frank’s head to face it. “I’m really going to be sad about marking it up, but orders are orders. Last chance for a kiss, anyone want to take it?” It stared at Gerard, eyes glinting as it turned Frank’s head away. “Aw, sorry. Too slow.”

Gerard barely had enough time to blink before the thing had its knife in Frank’s mouth and was slicing straight across his right cheek. It laughed, dropping Frank in the next second so it could pick up its gun just in time to catch Thriller in the shoulder as he came into the dining area.

“Tah!” the thing said, but Gerard was too busy leaping over the tables that were separating him from Frank. He hit his knee on a chair but kicked it out of his way, shoving past a round table next, intent on reaching Frank.

Frank’s eyes were just opening, fear and confusion evident on his face as he fell to his knees. Blood was already spilling from the side of his mouth, painting his cheek and chin a slick red and Gerard saw him parting his lips, possibly to scream or maybe just to breathe. He cleared the final hurdle and panicked. If Frank opened his mouth any wider, he’d make the cut even worse. “Fuck, Mikey?” he shouted.

“Knock him out, Gee, put your hand over his eyes,” Mikey yelled.

Frank went limp in Gerard’s arms the moment Gerard reached out and covered Frank’s eyes. Gerard pulled him close, cradling him with an arm around his chest. “Mikey,” he said, voice quiet beneath the rushing in his ears but Mikey heard, Mikey always heard and was at his side. “Mikey,” Gerard said again, voice choking somewhere in his chest. He couldn’t look away from Frank, Frank who was always full to the brim with life, so small and fragile in his arms. He was vaguely aware of the blood that seemed to be everywhere, so much blood. Gerard hadn’t even known that a normal-sized person could hold that much blood in their bodies.

“Get him in the kitchen,” Mikey said, touching Gerard’s shoulder briefly before he got up. “Put him on the counter, Gee. Don’t let him wake up, okay?”

“I’ve got his legs,” Ray said, as Gerard’s head moved itself in a nod, and then somehow they were moving through the fog in the diner. Thriller was at Gerard’s back, steadying him and helping them move Frank. They put him on one of the long silver counters and then Mikey was back, pulling on gloves and unzipping a white case.

“Bring his head over the edge, tilt it so the cut is facing the floor, we don’t want him to drown,” Mikey said, digging for something as the three of them maneuvered Frank’s limp body. Gerard was vaguely aware of the fact that his pants were getting awfully wet, but he just kept his hand clamped over Frank’s eyes.

“Hold him there, Gee,” Mikey said. “That’s really good. Just keep him still.”

“I’m trying,” Gerard said. His arms were starting to cramp but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t know if Frank could feel anything in the state he was in but at least he wasn’t making the cut any worse right now.

“That’s really good, you’re doing such a good job,” Mikey said, and Gerard gulped down against his gag reflex when he saw that Mikey was threading a needle. “It’s okay Gee, just hold on, okay? I need you to keep Frank like that for me, can you do that?”

Gerard nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth. He was pretty sure that, this close to a needle, he would probably throw up everywhere, or maybe faint, and neither of those were really sanitary options. Especially since he would be collapsing into a pile of Frank blood and what looked like a billion fucking corpses.

“He’s losing a lot of blood, Kobra,” Thriller said. He seemed awfully fine for someone who had just got shot in the shoulder. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Gerard would kill for some adrenaline.

“I fucking know that,” Mikey snapped, laying the needle down on a piece of gauze. “Jet, come hold his mouth for me.”

“What?” Ray asked, voice far away. It was probably all the blood that was making Jet sound like that. Or maybe it was the needle. Everything went black for a moment and then Gerard realized he’d closed his eyes. Ray was in front of him, hands in the same white gloves that Mikey had on, and he had his hands inside Frank’s mouth. “Just hold it here?” he asked. His skin had a green tinge to it. Gerard suspected his did as well. “It’s too slippery,” he said, his good eye wide.

Ray needed something to replace the bandages that were still wrapped around his head. “Eyepatch,” Gerard said, staring up at Ray and away from the carnage beneath him.

“What?” Ray asked, blinking at Gerard for a second before Mikey snapped his fingers to get their attention again.

“Listen, come on. It’s hard but you need to hold it right. I need to use bioglue to keep it shut,” Mikey said. When Gerard looked over, his brother’s eyes were wide but focused. “It’ll take more time to stop the bleeding this way and he’ll have a wicked fucking scar but if I just cauterize it the muscles will never grow back together.”

“We definitely want those muscles to grow back together,” Ray said.

“You just hold on,” Mikey said, and Gerard realized he was the one being spoken to.

Mikey waited until he made what he hoped sounded like a noise of agreement. He had to look away after Mikey spread the biologically-enhanced glue on the too-flat, too-clean, too-inside-of-Frank’s-fucking- _cheek_ cut. He knew his brother was stitching the two sides together now, from the inside to the outside, to make sure that they stayed in place, but if he just thought about other things, he wouldn’t have to worry about needles pushing under his skin and coming up with all of his organs and everything that made him Gerard and taking it all away because needles were selfish sons of bitches that liked to destroy lives.

No, he wouldn’t think about that, after all, needles didn’t make the walls press in on you and they definitely didn’t suck all the air out of a room. They probably didn’t make everything warm and spinny and they probably weren’t sucking his brain out through his ears, or through his nose, which would explain why he couldn’t breathe and was still breathing or was he already dead, had the needles killed him?

He was vaguely aware of the fact that hyperventilating as a full grown adult was probably something he should be worried about. He kept his eyes shut against the sweat pouring down his face, because his lungs were a vise and they were going to shove needles under his skin. Something rang in his ears and it wasn’t just that high-pitched buzzing noise he kept hearing because that noise meant that his heart was still working which it wasn’t, it was stopping, and no matter how hard he pressed down over his chest, it didn’t seem to be starting again. But he had to keep his hand over Frank’s eyes and so he wrenched open his eyes, gasping air in like a landed fish, to make sure he was still keeping Frank asleep.

Someone’s hand covered his on his chest and Gerard looked up to see Mikey staring at him. His mouth was moving but sound wasn’t coming out of it until Gerard blinked and sucked in another breath.

“Gee, Gee, done, done, I’m done,” Mikey was saying, eyes wide. “Party, Gee, can you hear me? No more needles, there aren’t any, take a deep breath okay? It’s all okay now, everyone’s fine, nobody’s hurt. Everyone’s fixed. You just breathe in okay, listen to me and breathe in.”

Gerard swallowed and nodded, clenching his eyes shut again and breathing out through his nose. Long breaths. Nobody was going to stab him or give him a shot. Mikey would never hurt him like that. In and then out.

“I need you to open your eyes,” Mikey said. “We’re going to wake him up now so we can give him something that will put him to sleep, okay?”

“No more needles?” Gerard asked. Oh, his heart was still working.

“No more, Gee,” Mikey said. “You’re okay.”

Gerard nodded and opened his eyes. _Keep beating, little buddy_ , he thought at his heart. _You just keep going._

He took a deep breath. “Is he going to bleed inside his mouth anymore?” he asked, moving his head over to his shoulder so he could wipe the sweat away from his eyes.

“Hey, don’t insult me,” Mikey said, pulling his hand back from Gerard’s chest. “I’m the best fucking medic there is.”

“Oh yeah,” Gerard said. “Right.”

Ray was still there when Gerard turned back to them, as white as a sheet. He had one hand under Frank’s chin and the other on the top of his head. “Now, Gee,” Mikey said, and Gerard let go.

Frank opened his eyes the moment Gerard’s hand pulled away, his pupils widening immediately. His breath picked up and he jerked beneath Ray’s hands. “Restrain him,” Mikey said. Gerard reached over and forced Frank’s shoulders down, trying to ignore the panicked huffs of air he could hear coming from Frank’s nose as he started to breathe more quickly. The broken whimpers that came from inside his chest made Gerard want to look away but he forced himself to look right in Frank’s eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Mikey said. “Frank, hey.”

Frank sucked in a deep breath through his nose and whined, eyes blinking rapidly. Tears welled up and fell down his temples.

“Frank, listen to me, okay? Some kind of upper level BLI maniac had you a few minutes ago and he cut up your face. I stitched you back up but you’re not going to be able to move your mouth for a while, okay? Ray’s gonna let you go and I’m going to give you something so you can sleep, something to take the pain away, okay? But I don’t want you screaming or moving your mouth. Can you do that for me?” Mikey reached over and touched Gerard’s shoulder. “Gerard, grab his hand. Frankie, can you do that? I want you to squeeze Gee’s hand once for me if you can, okay? Once for yes, twice for no.”

Gerard looked around helplessly, feeling useless for a moment until he found Frank’s hand. One of them looked like it might have been burned so he took the other one in both of his. “Hey, Frankie, Mikey’s fixed you up real good,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Frank’s eyes moved around wildly before settling on Gerard. His breath shuddered in his chest but he squeezed Gerard’s hand once.

Ray let go of Frank’s head and Mikey propped him up enough so that he could slip a blue pill inside. “Swallow, come on,” Mikey said, pouring a tiny amount of water into Frank’s mouth. Frank did, with a whine, and then Mikey put his head back onto the table.

“That’s good, you were really good, really brave,” Mikey said, brushing Frank’s hair away from his eyes. “You go to sleep now, okay?” His bedside manner was fucking awesome, now that Gerard was paying attention. “Gee, you stay with him, okay? Keep an eye on the cut, just make sure he falls asleep. I’m going to patch up Thriller’s shoulder.”

“You didn’t faint,” Ray said, patting Gerard on the shoulder. “Good job.”

Gerard nodded but he was already looking back at Frank. “Hey, Frankie. Mikey did a good job here, you don’t have to worry.” He reached up to wipe away the tears from the corners of Frank’s eyes and let his hand rest on Frank’s unmarked cheekbone. “You just go to sleep, you’ll be okay.”

Frank squeezed Gerard’s hand twice and fell asleep.

**Chapter 2**  
“I meant what I said before, you know,” Gerard said.

Ray looked at him quizzically from beneath his hair. “Before?”

“Back then,” Gerard said, gesturing towards Frank, unconscious on the counter in front of them. Gerard and Ray were waiting for Mikey, who had pointed to the second silvery counter and told them to _Stay, or else_. “When... You know, when we were...”

“Getting bled on?” Ray asked, grimacing at his red hands.

Gerard’s pants were never going to be white again. “Yeah, then. About the eyepatch. We should find you one. I think it could be really cool. It might make a statement, make BLI think twice about shooting you again, you know?”

“Oh,” Ray said. “That’s what you meant.”

“What else would I mean by ‘Eyepatch’?” Gerard asked, crossing his eyes and trying to see down his injured nose. It had stopped bleeding ages ago but it was going to leave a hell of a bruise.

“Well after you said that you started hyperventilating and almost passed out,” Ray said. “So I thought the two events might be related. An eyepatch could be cool though.”

Gerard nodded. “Really cool. It’d be so fucking badass.”

Ray’s smile was half-hearted, but Gerard knew it wasn’t because his idea was bad, just, it was hard to be anything but sober with Frank spread out on a table in front of them.

“Speaking of badass.” Thriller’s voice made the pair of them perk up as Mikey and the shorter man returned from patching Thriller up. “I counted and that little punk took out eleven agents. Eleven! Before any of us even had _two_.”

“That’s our Fr -- Ghoul,” Gerard said. “Don’t ever challenge him to a shooting match, he’ll win every time.”

“He learns fast,” Mikey said, pushing Thriller down to sit next to Gerard. “Jet, you next.”

Thriller watched them go with a small smile on his face and then turned back to Gerard. “He does, you know. Learn really fucking fast. He was like that before BLI took him, but after...you just hand something to the guy and he’ll learn how it works and then he’ll kill somebody with it. He’s something else.”

The blood coating Gerard’s arms was starting to dry and he picked at it with his fingers, idly inspecting the flakes of blood that got caught beneath his nail. If he didn’t feel so exhausted from the emotional turmoil of earlier, he might have been concerned at how easily he was brushing Frank’s blood off his arms. “He’s always been like that. Something else, I mean. Ever since we knew him, at least. He ever tell you how he met us?”

Thriller shook his head. “No.”

“He was painting,” Gerard said. “He made this contraband paint with like, fucking garbage as the dye. And he was throwing it on some white walls up in the City. And a patrol found him, two Dracs. He just took them out. And then he ran right into the Scarecrow backup that the Dracs had called and he took them down, too. Three Crows. He didn’t even have a fucking _gun_. And then he broke my nose when I found him. And he tried to steal our car.”

Thriller snorted. “That sounds like Ghoul. Why’d you let him in, anyway? Like, to your gang?”

Gerard looked up at Frank, who was only ever still when he was under heavy sedation. Gerard had noticed that even when he was sleeping, he was almost always moving, always a blur of life. “You know what he’s like,” Gerard said softly. “How could we ever say no?”

Thriller fell silent for a few minutes, and Gerard picked at the blood on his hands until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay,” Thriller said. He looked so earnest that Gerard wanted to believe him.

But he’d seen the way Frank had been hanging from that Blackbird’s grasp, and the way Frank’s eyes had looked when the thing had finally released him, lost and confused like he didn’t know where he was. “We didn’t get there fast enough,” Gerard muttered, resting his forearms on his knees. “You didn’t see the look on his face.”

“Party, listen to me,” Thriller said. Gerard didn’t look up: he couldn’t get the image of Frank’s terror-filled eyes staring up at him from between Ray’s strong hands on the silver counter. “He’ll be fine. You didn’t see what condition he was in before, when he came to us that first time. They fucking destroyed him in that place, and he put himself back together like it was nothing. Like just plain living wasn’t something the rest of us struggle with every day. And now that he has you guys to help him? Don’t worry, seriously. He’s going to be _fine_. He’s probably going to be fully healed in like a week and you’ll wonder how he’s even real.”

Gerard didn’t say _but he said he wouldn’t be_ , because the thought sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. Frank _had_ been the first to wake up those few nights ago in the desert. He didn’t know what to say to Thriller though, so he just scratched his arm and kicked his foot out.

Thriller cleared his throat after a few minutes. “You going to be okay?”

“Probably not,” Gerard said. “But nobody really is anymore, are they?”

Thriller met his eyes and grimaced. “Yeah,” he said.

“We make do,” Gerard said.

“Some better than others,” Thriller muttered. He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat again. “So, uh. I was wondering something.”

He cleared his throat a third time, eyes darting around and hands shifting restlessly on the counter beneath them.

“Just ask, dude,” Gerard said, wondering if bumping shoulders with Thriller would be too familiar. He decided it would be and just kept still instead.

“Okay,” Thriller said. “Back in there, when Fun Ghoul...got, you know...I noticed that you guys were. Uh. Talking to each other.”

“Were you weirded out by our panicked demeanors?” Gerard asked. What on earth could be making Thriller act this awkward?

“No, no,” Thriller said. “I understand that, with...with Ghoul and all, being...injured. But when you were talking to each other, you weren’t using your. Your...uh.” He paused for a moment, frowning. “Do you really not know where I’m going with this?”

Gerard shook his head.

“Your names,” Thriller said. “You weren’t using your Killjoy names.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Oh,” Gerard said, blinking fast, trying to figure out a way he could talk his way around this. “Those are our...nicknames?”

Thriller looked wholly unconvinced.

“Pet...pet names,” Gerard said. “Ah, fuck it. They probably know who we are anyway. I mean, they found us out here. I vaguely remember trying to keep our names a secret but I also remember trying not to die and that didn’t work out so well either.”

“Right, so,” Thriller said. “I mean, I won’t tell anyone, obviously. Unless I’m under torture, in which case I’ll probably be detailing my sexual history with Kobra as well and which one of those is really worse?”

“The names,” Gerard said. Because, wasn’t that the thing? Weren’t they trying to hide their identities so nobody could find out where they’d come from or who they’d known before all this?

“Uh, no,” Thriller said, eyebrows drawing together. “The relationship thing. If they know who you love, they can use that against you.”

“Who you what now?” Mikey said, emerging from the dining area where he and Jet had gone through to access Mikey’s room.

“Shit,” Thriller said, eyes wide. “Now he’ll know how I feel about him.”

Mikey rolled his eyes but he was beaming beneath the straight line of his mouth. “You’re lame,” he informed Thriller.

“So are you but I love you anyway,” Thriller said.

“Fuck off,” Mikey said, grinning now as he came up to Gerard. “I changed Ray’s bandages and gave him something so he could get some rest, and then I called Dr. D and asked him if he could come get us ‘cause our location has been compromised.”

“What’d he say?” Gerard asked.

“He said they fixed up Thriller’s bike and they’d be glad to carry us around for a while until we can find Grace. Then he asked if I was using my scrambler and I hung up because of course I was.”

“Right,” Gerard said. He looked at Thriller, who was grinning stupidly at Mikey, and Gerard had to smile too. “Hey, uh,” he said, waiting for Thriller to turn back to him before he stuck out his hand. “So, I’m Gerard. Nice to meet you.”

“Party, what,” Mikey said, sucking in a surprised breath.

“He heard us before,” Gerard said. “Mikes, when we were stitching Frankie up.”

“Fuck,” Thriller said, taking Gerard’s hand and shaking it. “Gerard, okay. I did, yeah, I’m sorry Kobra, I didn’t mean to, I mean, I would have left but you needed help carrying Ghoul and --”

“Mikey,” Mikey said suddenly. He looked at Gerard, unsure for a moment, but Gerard nodded. “If you heard it, you can call me Mikey. Not out there, but, I guess in here it’s okay.”

“Oh,” Thriller said. He dropped Gerard’s hand, all of his attention on Mikey now. “Then I...should I give you my name?”

Mikey shook his head. “If they catch me, which I think they might, I don’t want them to know about you. Not if they would use that against me.”

“They do,” Thriller said.

“Then I’m fucked,” Gerard said. “The leak at your club knew about me and Frank.”

“Frank,” Thriller said, grimacing. “It’s so fucking weird, using his real name. I’ve known him for so long and he’s never been Frank.”

“Hang on,” Gerard said. “You have known him a lot longer than us. Did you ever know about this Blackbird thing? Ray was saying something back in there about that thing being like. Third level or something. Do you know what that means?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Thriller said. “I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say something about Crows and Dracs maybe being lower levels? But I know shit all about BLI’s internal structure.”

Mikey grimaced. “I bet Frank knows. He told me once that if he ever had something he needed to tell us, he’d let me know. The information’s going to be hidden though.”

“It’ll be under his last reset,” Thriller said. “Or whatever, death.”

“He’ll tell us,” Gerard said.

“Will he do it if Dr. D is there?” Mikey asked, nudging Gerard’s knee with his own thigh.

“I don’t know,” Gerard said. “I hope so.”

“Well, they’re coming in an hour,” Mikey said. “So let me clean your fucking broken nose at least.”

“We should pack up all our shit, too,” Gerard said, waving off Mikey’s concerned hand on his face. His nose wasn’t broken, it had just been bleeding a lot, that’s all. “We can’t come back here now. Not for a long time.”

“Maybe not ever,” Mikey said, pausing in his inspection of Gerard’s face.

“Please take more than one shirt,” Thriller said. “For the love of God.”

Mikey looked at Gerard and they rolled their eyes in unison.


	4. Jet Star

**Chapter 1**

Getting Frank from the kitchen to the Doctor’s van was more difficult than it should have been. It didn’t help that the van wasn’t actually at the diner when Ray started carrying Frank. To make matters even worse, Gerard thought that hovering over Ray as he carried the heavy little fucker, and voicing helpful comments like: “Watch his head” and “Don’t trip over that dead Crow, Jet” and “Don’t drop him in that pile of blood, for the love of god!” was a useful thing to do with his time.

As he maneuvered Frank over to the threshold, Gerard said, “Are you _sure_ you’ve got this” for the billionth time, and Ray snapped.

“If you’re not going to help, you can’t criticize,” he said, glaring at Gerard over Frank’s head.

“Kobra isn’t helping either,” Gerard said, putting his hands on his hips as Ray jostled Frank in an attempt to get the door behind him open. “ _Watch it_ , Jet, you’re going to give him _brain damage_.”

“I’m going to give _you_ brain damage if you don’t shut the fuck up!” Ray snapped, adjusting his arms on Frank’s chest as he finally got a good grip on the doorknob and twisted it to the side. His head lolled against Ray’s shoulder and Ray moved his own chin to avoid brushing against Frank’s cheek.

“Fuck,” Ray muttered. “Why does his ass weigh so much? He’s so fucking small.”

“I don’t know,” Gerard said, clasping his hands behind his back as he tried to look around Ray at the desert landscape. If he had to carry Frank by himself one more time, Ray was going to use his apparently strong arms to punch Gerard’s lights out.

“You _should_ ,” Ray muttered, relishing the way Gerard’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, scowling into the bright sun. “Whatever. Is Doctor D coming or what? I don’t see a van.”

“He’ll be here in a minute, he said,” Mikey said, appearing at Ray’s shoulder. “How’re you doing with that, he looks heavy.”

“He _is_ ,” Ray grunted. Frank was slipping too, shoulders coming together even as Ray tightened his arms around Frank. Was he supposed to just hold Frank up until Doctor D got to them?

Mikey clapped Ray on the shoulder. “I’m going to take Party and Thriller to help carry our things. You should put Ghoul down here and come too.”

“Just on the ground?” Gerard asked, sounding scandalized.

Ray nodded though because, hey, his arms were tired and Frank was unconscious. “Sorry buddy,” he said, patting Frank’s head once the small man was laid out on the ground.

Mikey elbowed Ray in the ribs in what Ray assumed was a friendly gesture and smiled with all of his teeth. It was mildly terrifying. “Don’t worry, there’s more for you to carry.”

It seemed like one second Ray was blinking at Mikey and the next, he was holding a box of heavy, clinking shit. “Hey,” Ray said, frowning. “Why aren’t you carrying anything?”

“I am,” Mikey said, eyes wide. “I’m carrying these two vials, Jet. They’re very sensitive and they can’t be mixed or jostled too much.”

“Fuck you,” Ray muttered. “Leave your fucking experiments behind, Kobra. We won’t have room for them.”

Mikey held his vials up to the light, a sinister grin casting shadows over the rest of his features for a split second. Ray blinked and almost missed the expression. “I’ll find room,” he said, hugging the vials to his chest and glaring at Ray. “They’re important.”

“Why can’t Thriller carry stuff?” Gerard whined, carrying Ray’s bag of stuff, which was by far the lightest box. Mikey muttered something about injured shoulders but Ray just ignored Gerard and carried the boxes out.

The white van was there by the time they got outside the diner. Show Pony was leaning up against the danger tape like something straight out of Shiny, all long limbs and curves. He had his head tilted back, features masked by his blue helmet, but he looked towards them when they emerged from the building and saluted them with his pink gun.

“The desert ain’t no trash disposal, Killjoys,” Show said, flipping up his visor and gesturing to Frank. “Can’t just leave your shit lying around like that.”

Gerard huffed out a breath, glaring at Show, but Mikey, still holding the two vials, stomped on Gerard’s foot and cleared his throat. “He’s unconscious, what’s he gonna do,” he said, one of his eyebrows twitching a fraction as he looked at Gerard.

Show raised his eyebrows. “How’d you manage to get him that way? He usually puts up a fight when you wanna knock him out to get some peace and fuckin quiet.”

Gerard cocked his hip to the side, resting his weird hybrid box-bag on it. “We ran into an infestation of birds and vamps.”

“Birds plural?” Show asked, twirling his gun slowly. “You talkin’ more’n one species or just a handful of the white ones?”

Gerard tilted his head and tapped his gun with a finger. “The black kind.”

Show snapped his visor down and gestured at Frank with his gun. “Get that shit in the van. One box each; we ain’t carrying around more of your musky clothes than we gotta.” He opened the back doors and hopped in, shouting, “Start her up, Tommy, we got blackies flying low in the area.”

Ray heard Tommy shout “What!?” over the sound of the van’s engine turning over. He looked over to Gerard to ask what he should be doing about packing Grace’s stuff but he and Mikey seemed to be having a silent argument with their eyebrows. Thriller was watching them with interest, but Show shouted at them to hurry the fuck up so he knelt down and started cramming Grace’s things into the duffle bag he’d salvaged from a trash heap a few years ago.

He had to pause after he’d managed to get half of her stuff in. There was no way that he could make it all fit. During the time they’d been living at the diner, he’d gotten some shiny holsters and a few extra shirts, pants and under things, but she’d amassed a ton of things: clothes, shiny bits of metal, a surprising number of belts and socks. He sighed and started pulling some of his stuff out of the box because he didn’t need as many clothes as she did. He didn’t really need that blanket either, did he?

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Show asked, coming to stand in front of Ray. He had his back to the brothers who were bickering about what looked like a box of scrap metal.

“I’m just trying to fit --” Ray said, but Show cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, don’t. We have room for everything she’s got.”

“Oh,” Ray said, shoulders slumping. He nodded and put her stuff back in the box he’d made for her. She’d decorated it earlier with pictures made from the crayons Gerard had found in the depths of a dump. They’d risked their necks to bring back those waxy sticks but the look on her face had been worth every effort. “Thanks.”

“She’s a powerful little angel,” Show said. “We gotta make sure she’s got everything she needs, you know? For when she’s back.”

“Yeah,” Ray said, clutching the towel he’d been about to lay on top tight in his hands. The ducks around the edges were all worn now but she still kept it, and he was fucking going to if he could.

Once he put Grace’s stuff back into her own container, he looked up to see Mikey holding something shiny high above Gerard’s head.

“He doesn’t need this! Party, how could you possibly know!”

“It said on the _box_ , Kobra, it said ‘If you assholes don’t bring this shit with you when you leave I will tear you apart’. All those words!”

“Well he only gets one so pick between the garbage and the _clean shirts_ , three guesses as to which one he wants more!”

“Hey,” Ray said, but Gerard just jumped, batting ineffectually at the air above Mikey’s head. Mikey had sunglasses on and was grimacing.

“Fuck off, we’re taking his clothes.”

“We have space for one extra, you and me fit into one, come _on_.”

“I need that extra space for pills and medical shit, you know that, fucktard.”

“Kobra, shit, you little fucking shit, we’re taking everything okay?”

“God, you assholes,” Show shouted at them from where he was lifting up Grace’s box into the van. “Jet has space in his duffle bag thing, put some of Ghoul’s fucking clothes in there.”

The brothers froze, hanging off each other in a tangled mess of limbs. Gerard stepped back and cleared his throat before punching Mikey in the arm.

“ _Ow_ , fuckhead,” Mikey hissed, dropping the oblong piece of metal he’d been holding.

Gerard sniffed. “Shut your filthy mouth and pack Ghoul’s shit.”

“I hate you,” Mikey muttered. He shuffled over to Ray, dragging Frank’s stuff behind him and somehow proceeded to magically fit an entire box’s worth of clothes into Ray’s half box. He nodded in approval and then pointed at the box. “You carry that,” he said, patting Ray’s arm before going over to Gerard.

Ray hefted the significantly heavier box up to Show, looking pointedly away from Mikey tugging at Gerard’s hair and whispering in his ear. When he turned back to them, Gerard was grimacing. Mikey grinned at him, wild and ferocious, and punched him in the shoulder.

“Yeah, love you too,” Gerard called as Mikey retreated to where Thriller was leaning up against a white bike. He yelled “ _Dick_ ,” after Mikey.

“Jet,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes at Ray. “Let’s get our deadweight partner into that van, you ‘n me are riding in the AM.”

“But what about --” Ray cut himself off, not wanting to finish his sentence. But what about...Mikey. Frank. Thriller. Those were the people Gerard usually took with him in the front of his car.

“I told Kobra to ride with Ghoul,” Gerard said, waving his hands in a circle that was probably supposed to illustrate something deep and meaningful. “We never get to go on solo runs anymore, you and me. Now come on, I’ve got the upper body strength of something that’s pretty weak.”

“I hate you all, you are all so fucking slow,” Tommy announced from the front as Ray and Gerard hauled Frank up and onto the bench of the van, where Mikey was already sitting, alone.

“Hey, where’s Thriller?” Ray asked as he maneuvered Frank up onto the bench.

“Headed back to the city,” Mikey said, adjusting Frank’s head on his lap. “They need him there.”

“Oh,” Ray said. “How are you, then?”

“I’ll live,” Mikey said, shrugging. “Out here’s where it’s at, anyway. Don’t want to be trapped under the weight of the city, you know.”

Ray nodded. “Sure,” he said, hopping out. “So long as you’re good.”

“Worry about yourself, Jet Star,” Mikey said. “It’s my job to keep an eye on you lot.”

“Right,” Ray snorted, closing the back doors of the van.

“Keep up or die, motorbabies,” Show shouted, cackling from the open window as the van peeled away.

“Shit, it’s so on,” Gerard said, jogging over to the AM.

The diner was in the background, short and sweet and _home_ , but as Ray slid into the passenger seat and grinned at Gerard’s mad shout out the window, he didn’t look back. Not once.

**Chapter 2**

It was after five hours of driving, when Ray had finally managed to get a comfortable slouch going, that the music playing in the car crackled to a stop.

“Piece of junk,” Gerard muttered, tapping the radio with a finger.

“D change the station again?” Ray asked, not wanting to move from his position.

Static hissed out at them suddenly and then Doctor D said _“Killjoys.”_

Gerard fumbled for the transmitter, swearing when the van’s brake lights flashed red in front of them. “Jet, can you get it,” he said.

Ray frowned and straightened up, reaching for the transmitter.

 _“Killjoys, we’re stopping, we --”_ D said, voice cutting out when the van skidded to a halt. Gerard slammed on his brakes too and Ray had to grip the top of his window hard.

“The fuck’s happening?” he asked, holding down the transmit button on the little black box in his hand. The moment the van came to a stop, the white doors flew open. Ray dropped the transmitter when Frank fell out of the van, stumbling away to the dust at the side of the road where he doubled over. The sound of retching made Ray’s stomach clench but he fumbled with his seatbelt, same as Gerard.

“Ghoul!” Gerard shouted, out of the car before Ray could even get his door open, racing to Frank’s side.

Ray saw Mikey leap out of the van before he could join them. The blonde pointed at him. “White kit glove compartment,” he shouted.

“Right,” Ray said, hands shaking as they worked the clasp of the glove compartment. He managed to get it open and hauled Mikey’s kit out. By the time he made it to Frank, the man was just dry-heaving over what looked like a pile of his own intestines and shaking. Gerard was holding his hair back and shouting at Mikey as Frank coughed and spat.

“I don’t fucking know, he just woke up and said he had to hurl, what am I, a fucking mind reader?” Mikey was saying, a hand on one of Frank’s shoulders.

“That pill you gave him was supposed to fucking level him, why’s he _awake_?” Gerard hissed, eyes saucers in his head. Frank’s hair, matted with sweat, was tangled around his fingers. Frank moaned and slumped to the side, leaning his weight against Gerard, eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging open as he panted.

“I didn’t give him the wrong one, he’s just, he’s fucking _Ghoul_ , he goes through pills like they’re fucking water!” Mikey ran a hand through his own hair. “I don’t _know_ what to do with him, I just do the best I fucking can.”

Frank made a soft sound and Gerard reached around him to wipe at Frank’s mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey Frankie,” he said, voice a low hum. They were far enough away from the van that Ray wasn’t worried about the radio crew picking up Frank’s name.

Frank blinked slowly at Gerard and then pushed himself into a sitting position, injured cheek facing Mikey. He uncurled a hand from where it had been clutching the dirty ground and patted Gerard’s leg once before coughing again.

“Right,” Mikey said, the sound apparently snapping him into action. When he looked up at Ray, his eyebrows were a solid line. It was what Ray liked to call his Concentration Eyebrows. “Kit.”

“Right here,” Ray said, handing the box to Mikey.

“Take Party away,” Mikey said, pulling out a bottle, a tube, and a pair of gloves.

“Right,” Ray said, tugging Gerard to his feet by his arm. “Sit in the car,” he told the redhead. Gerard scowled and opened his mouth to say something but Ray looked up at him with his best dad eyes and said sternly, “Party, the car. Kobra’s got Ghoul, but he needs you to be ready to take off.”

“You’re all against me,” Gerard muttered, but he did as Ray told him to do.

When he turned back, Mikey was throwing what looked like a used needle away from them. He met Ray’s questioning eyes as he uncapped the white tube and rubbed something yellow around the cut. “It’s for the infection he probably just gave himself,” Mikey said.

Frank huffed out a breath but his eyes were closed. “‘nn ohw ngla.”

“You know I’m right,” Mikey said, putting what looked like burn salve onto the cut. “It’s only been a few hours since you got yourself in this mess, fuckface.”

“You understood that?” Ray asked.

Mikey shrugged. “I’ve lived with Party for thirty years,” he said, like that was a proper explanation. “All done, let’s get you back to the van.”

“Nahn glrhig,” Frank said, head drooping.

“Ah shit,” Mikey muttered, wrapping a hand around Frank’s chest. “Jet, a little help? He’s passing out, here.”

“Oh,” Ray said, wondering if it would be easier for his sanity to pretend that the exchange between Frank and Mikey had never happened. “Right.”

“I don’t know if I should give him something or if he’ll stay out,” Mikey said, after Ray had hoisted Frank’s dead weight into the van for the second time that day.

“He’s already kind of unconscious,” Ray said, scratching at the edges of his own bandages. They were starting to get annoying.

Dr. D rolled up to the edge of the van, sunglasses pushed up past his bandana. “Y’all talking about our nutty zonerunner of a ghoul? I’ve seen this happen before too, his body’s going into full out repair mode, don’t you worry your pretty little heads about it.”

“How long will it last though, with the van shaking underneath him?” Mikey asked.

“However long he needs,” D said, shrugging. “Fun’s a tough shell, he’ll just stay sealed until he’s ready.”

“How long are we going to be driving?” Ray asked, scratching the back of his head.

“We need to hit a scav pile,” D said. He held up three fingers. “Then we gotta spread the airwaves across the zones, get the signal good and crossed between cams, and then I figured we’d drop your personal effects off at a hideyhole and bunker down ‘til dawn. Tomorrow Tommy wants us to shimmy over to the mailbox on Route 99, she’s got a letter she wants to throw to the dead.”

“You blabbin’ secrets ‘bout my personal life again, D?” Tommy asked, from the front of the van. Ray could only see her mirrored sunglasses in the rearview mirror.

“Never, sugarpie. I’m just listing our map points off to Jet and the Kid.”

“Keep it in your radio, D,” Tommy said, tilting her head up so Ray could see her wicked grin.

“Doc,” Show said, skating up beside Ray and hopping up into the van, “Camp on 4-B-2’s got reports of black cars and white cycles. Headed away from Killoy Manor. Pair of whites on foot in 5, one cycle in 1, and a hideaway troupe going mountain biking.”

“Back to the road then,” D said, grinning at Ray. “Gotta give our joys and babies their traffic report now, don’t we?”

“Clear station’s hard to find,” Show was saying when Ray closed the doors.

He shuffled back to the AM where Gerard’s hands were white-knuckled on the wheel.

“How’s he doing?” Gerard asked, starting up the car.

“Shut down for repairs,” Ray said. “He probably won’t wake up for a while, if D is right.”

“What do you mean, he’s been like this before?” Gerard asked, shifting gears without even looking.

Ray leaned out his window and breathed in deep. “Of course he has,” he said. “He’s Frank. His body is a fucking magical wonderland or something.”

Gerard snorted. “Right. D at least say where we’re going?”

“Bunch of places. A dump, a bunker, a shitton of zones. We’re going to the mailbox tomorrow though.”

Gerard was silent for a minute, breathing and driving. “You want to go?”

Ray shrugged. “We don’t know where Grace is,” he said.

“She’s alive,” Gerard muttered.

“But if --”

“She is,” Gerard said. “Don’t mean we’ll be if we ever find a way to bring her back from wherever they took her. I think I remember...something.” Something flickered in his eyes. “At sunset. Right before everything ended for me. The big man, Korse, was standing over us and he had Dracs and...Grace. But I don’t remember what he said, or where he _is_.”

“That’s a start though,” Ray said. “A fucking good one.”

“She’s still alive,” Gerard said. “He wouldn’t kill her. He wants to play with us, right?”

“If he has her, we’re not coming out of this alive,” Ray said.

“Probably not.”

“So I’ll write a letter anyway,” Ray said. “Just in case this time it’s for real.”

Gerard turned his head to look at Ray, smile revealing his sharp teeth. “It’s real every time,” he said. “But we’re better than death. We’re the motherfucking fabulous Killjoys, and we came to fuck, not to stay dead.”

Ray had to smile at that. “We’d better crank up the radio then,” he said.

“Fuck yeah,” Gerard said, whooping when Ray turned the dial and Mad Gear’s harsh voice filled the car.

_YEAH I DRINK JUICE WHEN I’M KILLING CAUSE IT’S FUCKING DELICIOUS._

**Chapter 3**

Ray fell asleep the moment his head hit his bundled-up jacket. They were stretched out on the floor of a one room shack that the radio crew had chosen as their safe house for the night, but after a full day of driving, nobody so much as spoke a word once they were horizontal.

When he woke up, the first rays of daylight were streaming through the cracks in the aluminum walls. Dust swirled in his wake when he got up, disturbed by his movement and highlighted by the dim light shining inside the room. Everyone seemed to be asleep: Show had probably plugged a handful of cassettes into the radio because even he was curled up around the bright screens of their equipment, head lolling on his shoulder.

He eased open the door to the desert. It was still cool outside, but he could feel the sun easing her way up into the sky, where she would do her damndest to fry them. Ray relieved himself in a bush and shrugged on his jacket before ducking back into the shack.

He did his best to slip in as quietly as possible so the light and noise wouldn’t wake anyone, but when he looked over to his corner, he saw Gerard stir. The redhead had been sleeping with his back to Mikey, the brothers pressed against each other from head to toe. It was something Ray had seen them do more than once, whether they were asleep or sitting or standing, they often arranged themselves so that they could watch each others’ back.

Gerard blinked a few times and looked around, pushing himself up after a moment.

“Where’s Frank?” he asked, his voice as dry as sandpaper.

Mikey turned his head, eyes barely squinting open in the dim light. “What’d you say, Gee?” he asked, his own voice less than a whisper.

“Frank,” Gerard muttered, stumbling to his feet and tugging his leather jacket over his pasty white arms. “He isn’t here. How long have you been up, Jet?”

Ray shrugged. “Five minutes. I didn’t check...but I guess, he wasn’t here when I got up.”

“Motherfucker,” Gerard muttered. He nudged Mikey’s back with his toe. “Get up, we have to find Ghoul.”

Mikey grunted, hiding his face in his arms. “Too early.”

“Up,” Gerard said, reaching a hand down and grabbing MIkey’s shoulder. Mikey groaned but he let Gerard haul him to his feet.

“Can’t be far,” Mikey muttered, eyes still closed.

“Here,” Gerard said, unfolding Mikey’s sunglasses and sliding them onto his brother’s head. “Now come on.”

He marched out of the shack, towing Mikey along behind him. Ray followed, and was mildly surprised to see Tommy step out of the shack a moment later. “Sorry if we woke you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m a light sleeper,” she said. She smiled, eyes crinkling. “Someone has to be. Frank, huh?”

Ray winced, glancing over to where Gerard was just walking around the shack, Mikey stumbling along with him. “Uh.”

“Moment of weakness, I get it,” she said.

“Wait, did you say you’re a light sleeper?” Ray said.

Tommy’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Sure did.”

“Did you hear when Ghoul got up, then?”

“Sugar, I thought you’d never ask,” she said. “He left about an hour ago. Stood up, all wide-eyed and careful, touched his face, threw up...” she looked over to the side. “Right where those two are right now. He kind of sniffed the air, like a dog? Then he walked off, down the road.”

“He did what down the motherfucking _what_?” Gerard said. Apparently he’d made his way around the shack already.

“He couldn’t even stand up yesterday,” Mikey said. Ray couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses but he was probably blinking dumbly. It took him a few hours to wake up unless things were life-or-death.

“You expect us to believe that the guy who was on heavy painkillers just yesterday afternoon just up and walked away?” Gerard asked.

Tommy shrugged. “It’s what fucking happened, I don’t really give a shit if you believe me or not.”

Ray turned away from Gerard to look in the direction that Tommy had pointed out to them. He could see a small plume of dust in the distance, distorted by the heat already starting to rise from the blacktop. As he watched, the dust cloud slowly got bigger and bigger until he could hear the throaty growl of a motorcycle below Gerard’s voice, which was rising in pitch as he got more and more agitated.

Ray drew Jet Star from his holster and primed him, looking for cover. A single bike usually meant some intrepid zonerunner had lifted one off an unsuspecting Drac, but one of these days it was going to be a Blackbird, knowing their luck, and they’d all be picked off the road like flies.

“Does this area usually get a lot of traffic?” Gerard asked, momentarily more concerned about the bike coming towards them than his missing partner.

“Nope,” Tommy said, coming up behind Ray. “What do you think, Jet Star? Friend or foe?” 

Ray looked away. “Don’t know,” he said.

The bike got closer more quickly than Ray had thought it would, barely slowing down until it was a few feet away. It skidded to a halt right in front of them, kicking up cloud of desert dust into their faces. The four of them watched, eyes wide, as Frank put down the kick stand and hopped off. He pulled off the white helmet he’d been wearing and tossed it to Ray, who barely managed to catch it.

The line on Frank’s cheek was angry and red in the daylight, and it was all Ray could do to tear his gaze away from it. Frank’s eyes were hard and focused but he quirked one eyebrow at Ray in what he knew was probably a smile.

“Lost your other one,” Frank mumbled out of one half of his mouth, pausing by the bike to spit before he walked up to them. “‘N you need a bike.” He tossed the keys at Mikey.

“How the fuck,” Mikey started to say, cutting himself off when Frank screwed up his face and spat again. “Quit that, you’re going to tear your stitches.”

“‘M fine,” Frank mumbled. “Crows down the road, we needed bike ‘n helmet, took care of ‘em.”

“By _yourself_?” Gerard asked, when Mikey blurted out, “On _foot_? You’re going to _tear_ your fucking _stitches_.”

Ray looked down at the white helmet in his hands and then put it onto his head. He probably looked ridiculous with all of his hair sticking out the back, but BLI built all of their helmets with rebreathers inside and it didn’t matter what you looked like if you were alive out in the desert. “Fuck, thanks,” he said, pulling the helmet off.

Frank shrugged, face brightening when he put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh,” he said, pulling out his hand, something black and stringy dangling from his fingers. “Eyepatch.”

“What? Where the hell did you find this?” Ray asked, gaping as he accepted the black fabric.

“Around,” Frank said, holding Ray’s gaze for just a moment before he averted his eyes, looking at Gerard instead. His tongue darted out on the good side of his mouth and he sucked in a breath. Right. Ray was _not_ looking at the scar. “We going yet?” Frank asked when he was apparently done staring at Gerard, glancing around. “Hey Tommy.”

“Sugar,” Tommy said, inclining her head in Frank’s direction. “You bring me a present?”

“Not today,” Frank said with an apologetic shrug. 

“Oh well. Doc’ll be up in a few, I’m gonna start hauling crap into the van while you guys figure out your riding arrangement for today.”

“You need more rest,” Gerard blurted once Tommy had disappeared into the shack.

Frank shook his head. “Move now, rest later. Sleep in the car.”

“You got me a bike,” Mikey said.

“You got me a face,” Frank said.

“You walked up the road and killed a bunch of agents by yourself while under heavy sedation,” Mikey said. “And then you got me a bike.”

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Frank said, wincing for a split second when he opened his mouth too wide. He turned away from them and spat again. “So much fucking saliva,” he muttered.

“You’re sleeping,” Gerard said. “I don’t care what you want. Do you want to do it in the car or the van?”

Frank tilted his head to the side, like he was seriously considering Gerard for a moment. “AM.”

Gerard frowned at that. “Really? Then I almost think we should...”

“Leave,” Ray finished for him. “We can break off when we get to the mailbox. D said on the radio yesterday, something about people who know how to find people.”

“So we’ll find them,” Gerard said. “And then we’ll find Grace.”

“And we’ll all be together in the car,” Ray said. “Yeah.”

“Not me,” Mikey said, grinning suddenly. “I’m gonna be on my bike.”

“Don’t crash,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “And don’t lose us.”

“Don’t go so slow then, grandpa.”

“Don’t call me grandpa, dickface.”

“Don’t call me dickface, fuckhead.”

“You’re both idiots,” Ray said. Frank giggled and smiled, sort of. It was enough. “Stop arguing so we can get out of this place.”

“Right,” Gerard said. When he turned away to face the sunrise, he looked younger. More determined. “Grace.”

Ray watched as the sun bathed the landscape in light and thought about a drawing, orange on white, of a little curly-haired girl with life in her eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Grace.”


End file.
